Dangerous
by SandraDeee
Summary: Following the New Bern War, the citizens of Jericho strive to put their lives back together. Yet they soon find that not everything is as it seems both within the new government and their personal lives. Heather/Jake centric.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This alternate reality Jericho fanfic mostly takes place after the end of season 1, though some of the action from season 1 is highly referenced, particularly in this first chapter. While I am a huge fan of the show and am delighted that it has returned for an abbreviated season, one of the things I am missing during this second season is the character interaction, as well as the emotions that go along with putting back the pieces of broken lives. Also, since my favorite character, Heather Lisinski, has not been featured as prominently, I took it upon myself to (A) put together the backstory of where she's been and what she's done and (B) write what I would have liked to see happen upon her return. Be warned that I do tend to delve into all things sappy, though as the story progresses, I will be incorporating Jericho's action/adventure aspects, as well, with my own twists.

Any constructive feedback you can offer would be cherished, as this is my first attempt at a Jericho-based story.

**Chapter One: "Old Dogs and New Tricks"**

No one who knew Heather Lisinski would ever have considered her dangerous. When she was younger and her best friend Ted Lewis tried to convince her to skip Coach Libby's first period biology class to go get donuts, she flatly refused. At New Bern High School, she was voted 'best personality,' not 'most likely to succeed.' In truth, she simply wasn't ambitious. The most 'danger' she'd ever put herself in was rolling her youth minister's yard with toilet paper, and even then, no one suspected that innocent, safe Heather had anything to do with the prank. No, Heather Lisinski was not an adrenaline junky. She preferred the beaten path to the road less traveled, tinkering with engines under the hoods of cars instead of getting frisky with boys in the backseats, drinking light beer instead of hard liquor, and teaching third graders in a small town rather than pursuing her doctorate at a big city university.

And yet something changed along the way.

"Rule #11. Old dogs _can_ learn new tricks when the occasion calls for it," Heather muttered under her breath, though still within earshot of Eric Green. She found herself astounded that she was in her current position, playing the role of saboteur and spy with Eric, someone also considered equally safe and by most who knew him, the model of responsibility.

"What is about you and these rules?" his voice was coarse, sullen as he studied the iron bars of their holding cell.

Despite their situation, Heather managed the faintest of smiles, though with their backs to one another, she knew he couldn't see. "Rules to live by, Eric."

"Not everyone lives by rules."

Heather nodded. Truer words had never been spoken. She'd returned to her hometown hoping to bring light—literally—into what had become a dark world. With her interest in science, her knowledge of machinery, and her tenacity, it seemed a win-win situation to help get the New Bern factory in working order following the EMP and retrofit it to be able to produce wind turbines so that some sense of warmth and normalcy could be returned to both New Bern and Jericho. Leaving the relative safety of Jericho had been her first foray into dangerous territory, though she was naïve at the time about just what dangers awaited her.

_"I'm taking a page from your book and throwing caution to the wind," she'd told a disbelieving Jake Green on a cool autumn night months ago. _

While the factory did produce turbines, she quickly found that desperation and demagoguery made people willing to do things they'd never consider under normal circumstances. Ravenwood's attack and plundering of New Bern, as well as Philip Constantino's rhetoric and rise to dictator in deeds, if not in words, had seen to that. The people she'd known, even people from her father's church parish, were manufacturing mortar rounds and plotting a takeover of the neighboring town of Jericho. She'd not believed it at first, not been able to wrap her mind around it.

Despite everything, she wanted to believe in the good of people. After all, these were people she'd known her entire life! She'd babysat Mr. Kafferty's twin girls when she was in high school. Mr. Schultz's wife had been her cross country coach in middle school and he, himself, had coached in the town soccer leagues. Both worked in the factory since the blasts changed the face of their nation five months ago, and both were working toward making war of a new kind.

It was Eric who convinced her to do more investigating, that there was no logical explanation for the detailed map hidden in the factory, a map specifying the layout of Jericho and its resources. It had all been right in front of her; she just didn't want to see it.

"So what do you think the people back home believe about us? What we're still doing here, I mean."

Eric swallowed hard as he wrenched at the handcuffs that bound his wrists together. The skin was rubbed raw, but still he tested the boundaries of the cold metal. He'd been trying _not_ to think much of home, of what he left behind, of what he'd lost. An ache far more potent than the sores on his wrists gnawed at him when he thought about the last time he'd held April's hand as she lay dying, promising he was there for her when, in truth, he hadn't been for some time. He shuddered at the thought of looking into the eyes of his disappointed mother and father and his efforts to make peace with a brother who, despite breaking his parents' hearts over and over, was now perceived as the town's savior-in-residence…

"If we're lucky, Stanley and the others have clued everyone in to our 'disappearance.'" He shook his head. "I can't imagine Jake letting it go at that."

Heather smiled at the mention of Eric's brother. She'd nursed an enormous crush on Jake Green since his return to Jericho, coincidentally and thankfully on the day of the attacks. From the moment she watched him save Stacey's life on the school bus she'd been drawn to him. Every glance he gave her made her heart flutter, and she found her mouth and her foot getting fairly well acquainted with one another in his presence. "I can't either."

Eric turned to Heather and, not for the first time, regretted involving her in his suspicions. If only he'd handled it on his own. Though he had to admit that if it weren't for her, he would likely already have been dead. Her assistance procured him a stay of execution and managed to cease the production of mortar rounds for the time being. "If we get out of here, do you think you and Jake…?"

"_When_ we get out of here," Heather corrected. "But no, I don't think I'm Jake's type."

"He never did know what was good for him." And it was true. Eric wasn't foolhardy enough to think that he and his brother hadn't been given every advantage. They had strong parents, a home rooted in love and tradition, the prospect to advance their educations, and better than average intelligence. How someone who was so smart could be so damn foolish was beyond Eric. Jake was given chance after chance, opportunity after opportunity, and he'd squandered each and every one. Still, his parents never gave up hope that one day he would stop being an adolescent in an adult body and start towing the line.

Since the attacks five months earlier, they'd been working to rebuild their fractured relationship, and Eric was beginning to rely on his older brother more than ever before. In spite of this, Eric still had his moments when he would have liked nothing better than to knock sense into Jake. The situation with Heather Lisinski was one such case.

"I'm not dangerous enough."

Eric tilted his head, motioning their surroundings. "There's plenty of danger to go around for everyone."

"How about that?" Heather mused pointing to the stenciled words spray-painted onto the holding cell's wall. "No spitting. No smoking. We are definitely living on the edge." She turned and smiled at the tall, bearded man.

Eric shrugged, finding her smile to be infectious, albeit briefly. "I'll have to tell Mary about those rules. Maybe she could apply them to her tavern, as well."

"Eww. Does she have spitting problems at Bailey's? That definitely puts a new spin on the frothy drinks she serves."

"How can you be so upbeat?" Said in a different tone, it might have been a recrimination. More than one person had accused her of being flippant at inappropriate times. Yet Heather sensed no harshness in his tone; it was more of incredulity.

"Because, at the risk of upholding my Pollyanna reputation, we're going to get out of here, Eric."

He was silent.

"We are," she said more forcefully. "Your family needs you. Your mom, your dad, Jake."

"I let them all down."

"_Mary_ needs you, Eric."

Eric sucked in a breath. He couldn't bear to let his mind go in that direction. He knew Mary Bailey loved him, but what did he have to offer her? He was an empty shell of himself. The day April and Tracy died, something within him did, as well.

"You don't have to be strong all the time," Heather insisted.

Eric slumped on the cot and changed the subject. "You know we can't say anything. The questions are going to come, Heather, and we can't say a word to Constantino or his deputies about Jericho."

Heather nodded. She'd already demurred giving details about Jericho's strategic posts, population, and resources when she'd been questioned conversationally as she worked in the factory getting the turbines into production. Knowing what she did now, divulging information to the occupants of New Bern was akin to helping enemies strategize for war. Only this time, they wouldn't be asking for information in a conversational manner. They would be demanding it, and if what they'd experienced thus far was any indication of the lengths Constantino was willing to reach, Heather was also certain that they'd do whatever it took to get the information. "I know."

"I need you to promise me something," Eric said standing once again and moving close enough to Heather to whisper in her ear. "If you have the opportunity, I want you to run. Get as far away from here as you can, let people know what is really happening here. Do not come back for me."

"Eric, we're in this together. I couldn't just leave you!" Her outburst was louder than she'd intended. She lowered her voice. "I won't leave you here alone."

"You know this town. You know these people. They may lower their guards around you. They won't around me. I'm handcuffed. You're not."

Heather shook her head. "I _don't _know this town. Not anymore. It's a moot point, anyway. Do you think they're just going to let me waltz out of here? I tried to destroy their factory! Let's face it, Green. I'm Public Enemy Number One." The words felt foreign as they came from her lips. Safe, boring Heather Lisinski, Beta Club president, salutatorian, bookworm, grease monkey, and tomboy extraordinaire was now a nefarious New Bern criminal. If their circumstances had not been so dire, she would likely have found the irony exceptionally amusing.

"No, they won't let you go without a fight, but if the opportunity presents itself, promise you'll take it. Don't let me factor into your decision."

"Eric, I…"

"Ms. Lisinski." The man Heather recognized as Bart Travers, one of Constantino's deputies, appeared in the corridor. He wore the beige uniform of the New Bern Sheriff's Department, though prominent sweat stains on the uniform contributed to his generally unkempt appearance.

"Promise me, Heather," Eric repeated as he reached out his cuffed hands and squeezed her own small, cold hands. "_Promise _me."

"Ms. Lisinski," Bart Travers repeated, the patience wearing thin from the sound of his voice. "You are to come with me." He retrieved the cell keys from his pocket and opened the door while another deputy fixed his revolver upon Eric. Travers eyed Heather with a mixture of wariness and appreciation as his gaze traveled the length of her body. "Constantino requests the honor of your presence."

* * *

Disorientation. 

Fog.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. She loathed the incessant sound. Why wouldn't it stop?

Is this death? Is this judgment day? _I'm in trouble if it is._

Slowly the young woman sat up, her eyes adjusting to the light that greeted her. An astringent chemical scent filled her nostrils. No, it wasn't judgment day. She was in a medical facility. She looked down at her body, at the light blue cotton pants she wore and the white t-shirt.

Where was she? What had happened? Who had found her? The last thing she remembered was being in a car travelling away from New Bern. One thing she did know was that she wasn't in New Bern anymore. The structure in which she found herself was a large tent of some type.

Despite her lack of energy and the soreness that pervaded her body, she commanded her legs to work. She swung them over the side of the hospital bed, and her socked feet hit the cold floor. Unsteadily, she made her way to the doorway, spreading apart the inner flaps and then the outer ones.

Blinding sunlight met her, along with a flurry of activity. She willed her blue eyes to stay open and focus, despite the involuntary impulse she had to squeeze them shut. Where was she?

Men in fatigues loaded and unloaded from flat bed trucks and Humvees. Helicopters were circling. A city of tents extended outward.

She had to get help. What if Eric was still in New Bern? _Had_ he made it out safely? What if no one knew what was being manufactured in that factory, what she had indirectly helped them to accomplish? She just hoped to God that there was someone who would be willing to assist. She had to let them know what New Bern was planning so she could get back to Jericho and warn them. With purpose, she walked to two soldiers, hurrying as quickly as her lethargic body would allow her.

"Please. I need to speak to whoever's in charge." Her firmness and sense of purpose took both men by surprise, so much so, they didn't try to steer her back to the medical tent.

"Right over there," one of the soldiers pointed.

Heather Lisinski looked past two soldiers and saw a man with salt-and-pepper hair sitting on a crate and looking at the ground. A fellow soldier was dressing a wound on the older man's arm.

"Excuse me. Sir?" Heather didn't hesitate. She only hoped she wasn't too late.

The man looked up at the young, slender brunette. "Colonel Hoffman," he supplied. "You don't have to call me 'Sir' unless you plan to enlist."

"There's a city called New Bern. It has a munitions factory. It's planning to overrun the town of Jericho. People are going to get killed. They tried to kill me, but I got away. You've got to help these people."

He threw down a cigarette. "Where is this?" he asked, though his tone suggested that he was less than interested.

Disbelief began to well up in Heather. This man had to help. He had to! _No, keep your cool_, she told herself. _Think logically_. "Kansas. It's not far from the Colorado border. "

Colonel Hoffman took a deep breath. "I wish I could help. My orders are to secure the roads in this area."

"But Sir—"

"I don't get to make these decisions. I'm just a government employee."

"Which government?"

He chuckled wryly and looked to the man dressing his arm before gazing back to the young woman. "The United States." Upon seeing the look of confusion on her face, he asked, "Are you all right, Ma'am?"

Heather's mind was racing. When she was at the Black Jack trading post with Jake, Johnston, and Dale, she'd had the impression that the United States no longer existed as such. "We heard there were six different people claiming the presidency."

"There were. In fact, there are still a couple of hold outs. Texas. Bloc in the East. The new federal government has been restored in Cheyenne, Wyoming."

"Colonel, this is an emergency. You have to go to Jericho. The fighting could be happening right now!"

He lifted his hand to motion her silence. "I am really very sorry, Ma'am. Castbury, see that she gets back to the medical unit."

"C'mon, Ma'am," said a young soldier approaching from the side. He indicated for Heather to follow. With the large rifle he held, it was difficult to argue.

Still, there had to be something she could do….

* * *

The hours seemed like days. 

What was wrong with these people? And why wouldn't this doctor leave her alone?

"Ouch!" Heather protested as the doctor injected her with a small syringe. "What are you doing?"

"It was time for your medication. I had to do it quick. We're evacuating."

"Evacuating?" She flew past the doctor and outside, once again leaving the confines of the tent. The doctor chased after her, grabbing hold of her. "I want to go home," Heather stated forcefully as she pulled her arm away from the female doctor.

"Our orders are to take people out of the conflict zone. You'll be safer in Cheyenne."

Heather wanted to scream. Why would no one listen? The thought of the people she cared about caught in a war zone nearly made her physically ill. It was at that moment she saw Colonel Hoffman. She ran to him, desperate to make one last plea.

"Colonel Hoffman? What is all this?"

"Sir, we head out in five minutes."

"Roger that," he replied to his soldier before turning his attention to Heather. "Jericho's been moved up to Priority Number One on the list."

Relief and gratitude flooded over her. She wasn't certain why the sudden change had been affected, but she wasn't bound to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth. "Thank you! God, thank you!"

"This is all thanks to you. Don't worry. We're going to get things back to normal again." He looked to his men. "All right. Saddle up."

Heather turned away and smiled. Everything was going to be all right. It had to be. Everything would go back to normal. They would put their lives back together again. With a government to depend upon, people would cease panicking. Infrastructure would be restored, along with order. Jake, Emily, her students—all of them would finally be safe again, truly safe.

The sound of a helicopter flying overhead caught her attention. She looked to the sky and was met with the sight of a tall flagpole. Waving proudly in the wind stood the symbol of the nation.

Her smile fell. Where there should have been horizontal stripes, she saw vertical stripes instead. Where fifty stars should have been arranged perfectly in a rectangle, far fewer stars were presented in an oval.

The flag was wrong.

And blurry.

And black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: "****No Place ****Like**** Home****"**

_Four Weeks Later…_

It was dawn on the prairie in Elis County, Kansas. Rich hues of pink met purple while cumulous clouds still clung to the last remnants of night as the sun made its ascent. A single tree provided a silhouette against the brightening sky, its branches meeting the light wind with little resistance. On mornings like this, it was easy to forget that the world was no longer the same.

"So you've been gone a long time, Ms. Lisinski," Lieutenant Hamilton commented as he looked toward his civilian passenger. Heather had found her attaché to be exceedingly friendly, more so than any other military officer she had encountered. His sandy blond hair was topped by a military issued cap, and his deep voice lilted in a slight Southern drawl. What Heather noticed most was his easy smile. And yet holstered to his body were his side arms.

Heather nodded. "In more ways than one."

The second lieutenant was a far more pleasant companion than Heather had recently known; nevertheless, the 238 mile trip seemed achingly long. With the gang activity and general lawlessness in this region of the country, they'd taken extra precautions to travel safely. Alas, safely equaled slowly.

The trip was a culmination of an even longer journey. She had spent the better part of the last month in and out of consciousness. Shortly after her encounter with Colonel Hoffman, she'd blacked out. The next two weeks went by in a blur. She'd awoken on several occasions to find herself in a medical facility with IVs attached to her arm, feeding liquids into her aching and feverish body. Invariably, as soon as she'd wake, a nurse would appear, soothe her, and she'd sleep again.

When she finally could keep her eyes open for longer than a few moments, she began what had proved to be a tortuously long undertaking: finding a way home.

Heather was reminded of a movie, _The Wizard of Oz, _which she used to watch each year with her mother and father when it came on TV. It was a tradition for them and one she eagerly anticipated. There weren't many things that she was watched as a youngster, partly because of the protectiveness of her parents but also partly because a set of rabbit ear antennas is what allowed what little television reception they had. In thinking back on that movie, she remembered how frightened she'd been by the Wicked Witch of the West and how her parents explained that while there were people in the world, like the witch, who weren't good, the good outweighed the bad. Like Dorothy, she found herself in unfamiliar territory following an unimaginable disaster. The military base was her Oz, and she was Dorothy, desperate to go home to Kansas. Yet no one seemed willing to assist her until yesterday evening, and Heather was decidedly lacking in the ruby slippers department.

"You must be someone important to warrant a military transport."

"I think they just got tired of me trying to stow away on and/or commandeer their vehicles on base." She shook her head. "I would make a terrible spy. I'm not sneaky enough."

"You're lucky, Ms. Lisinski, that they didn't shoot you for that." Lieutenant Hamilton's hazel eyes widened. "It's always the innocent lookin' ones that cause the most trouble."

She shrugged. "So, Lieutenant Hamilton, where are you from?"

"Tennessee." He gestured to the view out the heavily tinted windows. "This is pretty country, but it's nothin' like the hills in my back yard."

Heather had never been to Tennessee. Actually, she'd never been much of anywhere, and it wasn't likely that she was going to have the opportunity any time soon. "Is it strange? Being here, I mean, and not on the other side of the Mississippi? Tennessee is not part of this new government."

Over the past few days, Heather had the opportunity to watch what limited news coverage there was on a small television in Camp Hayward. What had been the United States was now divided into three factions: the Eastern Bloc, which held the vestiges of the old federal government in Columbus, Ohio; the Allied States, headquartered in Cheyenne, Wyoming; and the Republic of Texas. The Mississippi River, the blue line, served as a boundary between the East and West, both of whom were vying for Texas to join them.

After watching the same footage of the explanation of President John Tomarchio's rise to office being looped repeatedly and then repackaged to be repeated again, Heather could recite the official version of the events: North Korea launched simultaneous nuclear attacks on American soil with the aid of Iran. Scattered and weakened, the U.S. government floundered. Its President dead, the remaining government had been paralyzed by indecision. Then came a junior senator from Wyoming who rallied the troops and took control of the situation, effectively wiping the two countries off the face of the map who were the instigators of the worst crime against humanity ever known.

It was the unofficial version, the multitude of unknowns, that alarmed her, though. In New Bern, she'd watched on a far smaller scale how one man with too much power could compound a bad situation into a dire one. What happened when a man had absolute authority, no checks and balances, resources, and people willing to follow blindly?

"It's all temporary," Lieutenant Hamilton insisted. "The Cheyenne government is working to unite us as one nation again, and when we are, our new nation won't make the same mistakes that the old one did."

Heather said nothing in response. She'd heard the propaganda pieces and didn't particularly want to hear them again on the trip. "So do you have a first name, Lieutenant Hamilton?"

"Jacob."

Heather smiled. "That's a nice name."

* * *

For Major Edward Beck, being in Jericho following the New Bern War was evocative of his time in Fallujah. The players were different, but the rules were the same. There were those who went along, acted upon what was expedient for themselves. Then there were the ideologues, those who by their very nature were suspicious of anyone from the outside, anyone different whose ideas did not match their world view. 

When he was in Fallujah, his mission was to maintain order while winning the people's hearts and minds. He viewed his task as essentially a form of advertisement. If he could advertise democracy and liberty, much the way companies appeal to customers to buy their products, he knew he could improve the people's lives. But getting them to buy into a new product while clinging to an old one—that was the challenge.

The same could be said for his experience in Jericho. Beck had already been through a number of small towns, any number of which was grateful for the military presence and the order it provided. For the most part, the people of Jericho had accepted the military graciously. However, there were a few notable exceptions, and those exceptions were the ones who wielded influence on others.

"So it comes down to this. Are you going to be part of the problem or part of the solution?" Major Edward Beck's question hung in the air as he made eye contact with Jake Green. He spoke with painstaking patience, a tone which, unbeknownst to Beck, only served to infuriate Jake Green more.

For Jake, walking into the space in city hall inhabited by the military was too reminiscent of walking into the principal's office. The same air of condescension followed Beck that had followed Principal Gerhardt back in the day. They were two men cut from the same ineffective cloth, in Jake's opinion, caught behind a curtain of rules and regulations.

"I can tell you that we are going to continue to have a problem until justice is served. Lucky for you, I do have a solution."

Beck scowled and removed his sidearm. Jake had made it exceedingly clear what his form of a solution would entail. Beck emptied the ammunition onto his desk and began the process of disassembling the pistol. Jake supposed he should have been glad that Beck was cleaning the gun instead of aiming it.

"You've stood by and let me handle this because you've not had a choice. I'm going to give you a choice today, though. I need you, Jake. This town needs someone to believe in. I'm an outsider; I know I'm not that man. That leaves you."

Jake fought the urge to roll his eyes. This _was _Principal Gerhardt in an Army uniform. Granted Beck was a few years younger and many pounds lighter than the roly-poly former principal; yet Jake appreciated Beck about as much. Here came the speech about influence, how it can be good or bad. All words and no actions.

"You led this town into a fight to survive for its existence, and you can lead this town into recovery. What I will not allow you to do is lead this town into another bloodbath. I will not tolerate vigilantism. If Jericho is going to survive—if we as a nation are going to survive—we have to set boundaries and adhere to them. A blanket of amnesty has been granted to those involved in the New Bern War. _Move on_." With a small brush, he began to scrub the inside of the frame, the barrel, and its internal components.

"Do you think that swooping in and announcing we have a peace treaty with New Bern means that suddenly everything is okay? If it had been _your_ father murdered, _your _town nearly invaded and destroyed, would you be so willing to let it go?"

Beck looked up at Jake, the pieces of his pistol still within his hands. "Let me tell you something. My town _was_ destroyed. My father _was _murdered by the blast in San Diego. Those responsible have paid for their actions. Let me do my job here."

"That's all I want. For you to do your job."

Beck's jaw clenched as he saturated a cleaning patch in a solvent and pushed it slowly through the barrel. "Constantino remains under house arrest while we investigate his actions leading up to the war, actions that involve your brother, Heather Lisinski, and the unexplained disappearance of a number of his own people."

Jake shook his head. "Not good enough. I listened to Constantino and his men beat my brother to force information about Jericho out of him. He took it over and over. I can still hear those sounds and see my brother, the cuts on his face, the cracked ribs, the bruises. And Heather? Who knows what those monsters did to her?"

"I will find out."

Since Heather had been gone, Jake found himself thinking of her often. Reminders were everywhere, from the beat up old Dodge truck she used to drive, which was still parked off of Main Street in the small parking lot behind city hall, to the Jericho Library she fought to save from fire. Perhaps her greatest presence was in the form of wind turbines, which helped to keep the medical clinic functional in those darkest days following the New Bern War, some tangible evidence that her actions had saved countless lives since their installation.

It was strange. He hadn't fully appreciated her until it was too late. Wasn't that his pattern, though?

If Jake had known Heather Lisinski as a teenager, he probably would have done everything in his power to get her to do his homework. If he'd known her as a younger man, he would have done everything in his power to take advantage of her. As an adult male having known her, Jake did everything in his power to distance himself from her and regretted it beyond words. Vibrant, funny, and completely clueless about just how attractive she was, Heather was one of the many regrets in Jake Green's life.

There were too many regrets in his life. He would be damned if he let Constantino be added to that list of regrets. "How are you going to do that?" Jake's tone suggested a lack of confidence in the major.

"Just know that it will be done."

* * *

"You're being ridiculous," Heather Lisinski scolded herself as she stepped from the Humvee. "Oh, gosh, I'm losing it. I'm talking to myself again." She had longed to return, and now that she stood outside the city hall, her palms were sweating profusely despite the chill of the breeze, and her face felt flushed. There were so many things she wanted to know! She'd noted the military presence as their convoy neared the town, and Lieutenant Hamilton had provided sketchy details about the New Bern War. What Heather didn't know was did Eric make it back safely? How had Jericho faired in the attacks? Was Emily okay? Had she and Roger married yet? Was Jake safe?

Lieutenant Hamilton could see her trepidation. "Well, Dorothy, are you goin' to stand around all day or are you goin' to click your heels?"

Heather turned to him and marveled. It was as though he had read her thoughts. He nodded, urging her to go inside.

Walking through the lobby at Jericho City Hall felt surreal at best. Seeing the recognizable faces absorbed in their daily business and hearing the familiar sounds, Heather could almost believe that the past six months were the figment of a very overactive imagination. However, the military presence in the town, as well as the cleanup efforts and repair work being done on several of the buildings in the town square, suggested otherwise.

She'd been gone for months and in those few months had more varied experiences than she'd had in an entire lifetime. She'd learned what it was to fight, to truly struggle to survive, to even…

She pushed the thought from her mind, not allowing herself the luxury of taking that excursion into despair again.

Portraits of Jericho mayors past and present adorned the wall of the lobby. Heather's gaze rested on Johnston Green. His leadership had seen Jericho through its darkest hours. So many people in his position would have been megalomaniacal, but Mayor Green had the ability to recognize that he was part of a bigger picture and there wasn't enough room in that bigger picture for a big ego.

The corners of Heather's lips curled at the memory of a day spent traveling with Johnston, Jake, and Dale to Black Jack. When Johnston and Jake had loaded salt in the trunk of Jake's car in preparation for the trip, Heather had confronted Jake on his reluctance to let her make the trip with them. When she called Jake on the fact they went nearly a month after she kissed him without talking about it, Johnston had excused himself from the middle of the conversation, but not before shooting his son an "I'm glad it's you and not me" look.

Her smile fell, though, when she noticed the makeshift memorial of cards and flowers that overflowed from a table under the portraits onto the floor.

_Oh no. No!_

"Did you know him?" Lieutenant Hamilton asked from behind her.

She nodded silently, willing the growing lump in her throat to dissipate. If only she'd tried harder, if she'd been less foolhardy and more savvy. If she'd not helped New Bern to get its factory operational… There were so many what ifs! The only thing that counted was the here and now, and in the here and now, her friends were hurting, and she was to blame.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Lisinski. Do you need a moment?" Hamilton's orders were to bring her to his CO upon arrival for a debriefing, but allowing her a moment to compose herself was only right, only human.

Heather breathed deeply. "I…I need to get this over with."

Followed by her attaché, she meandered through the lobby toward the sheriff's department where she had been instructed to meet with Hamilton's commanding officer, Major Beck, who was overseeing the military presence in Jericho.

She rounded the corner, and that was when she saw _him_. His hair was longer than she remembered and several days' worth of stubble on his cheeks and chin were evident. Of all words, brooding was an apt description for Jake Green. He stood against the wall, seemingly lost in thought, his jaw set in frustration, older somehow. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself, as well as the incredible burden he had shouldered.

And still her heart quickened.

It was in that instant he saw her. Before Heather could even blink her eyes, Jake spanned the distance that separated them, pulling her into his arms. They clung to one another, and for the first time, Heather felt herself let out a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding.

His hands ran to her hair as he pulled back, staring. Her chestnut colored hair felt as silky as it looked. So many things had gone wrong in the last months, but for this instant, everything felt right. Seeing Heather again, knowing she was safe, made Jake feel less troubled. She looked almost as he remembered. Her features were lovely and delicate, though even slimmer than before. God, she didn't need to lose weight, but the lack of food had taken its toll on everyone.

Heather thought the smile that radiated from him made the years melt. He looked almost like a boy.

"Oh my God!" Jake felt like pinching himself. He'd hoped and, though he wasn't necessarily a believer in prayers, he'd even prayed that in spite of what he'd heard that she would find a way to survive. "Don't worry, Jake. It'll just be a few days." He chuckled as he echoed what she'd told him the last time they saw each other. Her final words to him had been etched in his memory. It had gone against every fiber in his being to let her join Ted, Russell, and the others to go to New Bern. But what could he have done to stop her, short of throwing her over his shoulder and forcing her back in his car?

From the look in her eyes, he was beginning to wonder if that's what he should have done.

She fought back the tears as she rested her hand on his wrist.

"How are you? Are you okay?" His brown eyes sought her blue ones, and she could see the concern that poured from him.

She nodded. "Uh, yeah. I'm good. I'm good. Yeah. Lieutenant Hamilton was nice enough to let me hitch a ride back here on his convoy, so…" Her voice trailed off. From the glistening in her eyes, Jake wondered if Heather was really okay, but it was evident that she didn't want to share more with him just yet. He looked over Heather's shoulder and saw the young man in fatigues to whom Heather referred. Lieutenant Hamilton, Jake noticed, stood at a respectful distance.

He leaned down, his forehead resting against hers. Feeling her warm breath upon his cheeks, Jake spoke softly. "When Eric told me you were dead, I didn't want to believe it."

"Everyone thought I was dead?" Heather whispered, pulling away, her eyes wide with shock. She'd quieted her fears on more than one occasion by persuading herself that help was on its way when, as it turned out, nothing could be further from the truth. She cleared her throat willing herself to maintain composure. "Heather Lisinski and cockroaches—you just can't get rid of us," she quipped feebly.

"My brother told me what you did for him back there. I can't thank you enough."

Relief flooded over Heather. Eric made it! "I guess he and I are even now, not that I'm keeping score or anything because that would be juvenile." Oh, no, she was rambling again. She strained to keep her tone light, but her words rang hollow in her own ears. She wondered if they did to Jake, as well.

"I mean it, Heather. Thank you."

"Jake, I…I don't deserve your thanks. So much of this is my fault. After what you've been through, what you've lost…" She took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry about your father. He was a good man."

"The best. But you're wrong, Heather. My father's death had nothing to do with you." Jake turned and looked toward Major Beck, remembering that they were not alone. Heather herself had not even noticed his presence as she'd been so focused on Jake. "His murderer is sitting in New Bern right now."

Major Edward Beck met Jake's steely gaze as he reassembled his sidearm with automaticity. Though he'd not said anything since Heather's appearance with Lieutenant Hamilton, he'd watched the reunion with keen interest. "Phil Constantino is in custody while the situation is being investigated. Remember what I said, Jake." An unvoiced warning hung in the air.

"Lieutenant Hamilton reporting as ordered, Sir!" Hamilton saluted.

"At ease, Soldier. This is Ms. Lisinski, I take it?"

Jake looked to Heather feeling somewhat at a loss. Beck knew Heather was alive? He was accustomed to knowing what was going on in his town, but since the military presence a month earlier, information filtered through less, not more.

"This is, Sir."

Major Beck extended his hand to Heather. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Lisinski. I'm Major Edward Beck. I think you can help us fill in some gaps in what went on here."

She accepted his hand and shook it. His grasp was firm, strong.

"I've already told you what happened," Jake replied, crossing his arms. Heather had been gone for months, and the look in her eyes showed fragility he'd not remembered seeing before.

"You have, Jake," Beck acknowledged. "Nevertheless, I would like to hear from Ms. Linsinski. She may be able to provide us with information that you don't have. You were concerned about whether I was going to do my job. Let me do it." He spoke patiently. "Ms. Lisinski, are you ready for your debriefing?"

Heather nodded.

"Will I see you later?" Jake asked, the gruffness evaporating from his voice as he turned his attention back to her.

"Yeah. I'll see you around, Jake."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much to all of you who have sent encouraging messages and reviews of the story. This is my first Jericho story, so I was quite nervous, but you've all made me feel at home. While this story does diverge from the season two plot, one of the things I've aimed to do is stay true to the characters. With that said, if you come across something you don't think a character would say or do, please give me a heads up.

This chapter establishes more of a backstory for the characters and sets in motion chapter four. I hope you guys won't be throwing produce at me when you read this first part. LOL.

**Chapter Three: "History ****Redux****"**

Emily Sullivan longed for a sense of normalcy. _Normally_ around this time of the year, she would be teaching her students about the American Civil War. _Normally _she'd be feeling a sense of excitement at the thought of summer break happening in a matter of a few months and be making plans for a vacation. _Normally_ she would spend her evenings curled up with Roger or hanging out with Heather.

Normal went out the window a long time ago. School had not been in session since the New Bern War, and even before that, it had been in session only sporadically as the town fought for its survival. There would be no summer vacations this year. Where was there to go? How would she get there? Roger Hammond was banished from Jericho after making a stand for the refugees, or the _survivors_, as they preferred to be called. And Heather? Emily had been trying not to think about her best friend and what her prolonged absence from Jericho all but proved.

Female friendship was not something Emily had much of during her life. Her friendship with Heather Lisinski had been the exception. Growing up, it was always easier to hang around males; the girls at school always eyed her so suspiciously, gossiped about her endlessly, and looked down on Emily because of her family's troubles. Heather was different, though. They'd met when Heather accepted a job at the elementary school and became fast friends, falling into a pattern of shopping, giggling, hiking, and the occasional ice cream binge. Heather was supposed to be her maid-of-honor at her wedding to Roger, but her wedding date came and went while Roger was trying to make his way back home following the attacks.

Then there was Jake. Growing up, it was always EmilyandJake, JakeandEmily, their names running together on everyone's lips. They'd been inseparable for so long, but he left.

Everyone always left her. Her mom, her dad, her brother, Jake, Roger, Heather.

When Jake returned, he brought with him so many memories of the past that she wanted to tuck away: issues with her father, the death of her brother, and she could go on. She tried to excise him from her life, but he was always there turning up like a bad penny, always making it more difficult to forget. He played the role of a hero to a T, and she'd begun to depend on him despite her best efforts to do otherwise.

And then there was Heather. She and Jake had hit it off, much to Emily's chagrin. The day that Heather approached Emily, referring to Jake and her as a mini Bonnie and Clyde, she'd tried to warn her friend to be careful, that no one was safe around Jake.

Heather could have had any single man in Jericho—and probably a few married ones. Why did it have to be Jake?

And now Emily Sullivan was a hypocrite. The very person she'd warned Heather against was the person she'd once again given her heart. Truthfully, Emily still didn't feel safe around Jake Green. She felt too much to be safe, too much baggage from their past, but the trust between them was being rebuilt. It had happened so subtly, she didn't even realize it at first. With Roger gone and Heather in New Bern and crisis after crisis, she and Jake had leaned on one other. And suddenly it was JakeandEmily all over again.

But even that didn't provide normalcy. Jake would not stay at her house for more than a few minutes. He said it was because she had allowed Dr. Kenchy Duwhalia and Jessica Williams to stay there, and he didn't want to invade their privacy, but Emily suspected it had more to do with the fact that it was her house with Roger than anything else.

"Ms. Sullivan," Chet Rawley called to Emily as she walked by. Emily recognized him from Jennings and Rall, the government contractors commissioned to handle the day-to-day operations of rebuilding, whether it was electricity and communications systems, assuring sanitary living conditions, or assisting schools in reopening to further educate the youth. Chet was always a little too perky and, if there was such a thing, too helpful, for Emily's taste. "I have something for you."

Emily stopped in her tracks, and then walked to the young man. He handed her a teacher's edition history textbook, _A New America: __A__ Comprehensive History_.

"What's this for?"

"We've updated the American history textbooks. Cases of them have been delivered to the school for you to use. School will be going back into session soon, correct?"

"If we can get them to show," Emily replied. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Chet replied as he retreated.

Emily opened the hardback book, viewing its table of contents. It looked to her like a standard textbook until she looked toward the last few units. "The decline and fall of the first Republic? How weak policies led to the demise of the United States?" she read aloud. Her mouth felt incredibly dry. She couldn't teach this. She _wouldn't_ teach this.

This _wasn't _history.

Then she recalled what an old history professor taught her in college. History is written by the victors. Textbooks, albeit nonfiction, can only be viewed through that filter, that someone does have a viewpoint to present and that viewpoint is rarely, if ever, unbiased.

Personal experience is like that, too, he'd asserted.

She was so lost in her own thoughts she didn't even see Jake approach her outside of the Gracie Leigh's. "Emily!"

She looked up.

"You'll never believe who I've just seen!" Jake Green brushed his lips against hers and pulled away. A broad smile filled his features, a smile Emily hadn't seen in what felt like an eternity, though in fairness to accuracy, was closer to about a four and a half weeks.

He'd endured so much loss, and it was a simple reminder that life was rarely fair. Jake had always held such a tight rein on his emotions that the memory of him literally crumpling on the porch of Stanley Richmond's farm house following the death of his father still gave Emily chills. She'd not known what to do except hold him, reassure him. In the time since then, she'd still been unsure how to help him as his mood fluctuated between morose and surly.

Emily's expertise in all things family related was sorely lacking. Her own father, a despicable human being who betrayed her when their town needed him most, was still out there causing trouble on the outskirts of Jericho. In the last few days, she'd found herself dwelling on her father as much as Jake dwelled on the loss of his. Yet she knew she wasn't justified. What did her loss amount to? Jonah Prowse once again took care of himself above all else, but why should she have been surprised?

Emily shook the thoughts of self-pity from her mind. With her slender fingers, she touched his face. "What has you so excited?"

Jake's dark eyes sparkled with excitement. "It's Heather. She's alive!"

Emily stood momentarily dumbfounded, the words not immediately sinking in. "That's…that's…_amazing_! But how? Eric told us…"

"Eric told _us_ what _he'd_ been told. He never actually saw her. Hell, he probably doesn't know even now!"

"You should find him. Tell him."

"Some good news to temper the bad." The smile faded from Jake's features, his eyes narrowing. "Did you know the Army has Constantino under house arrest? Have you heard about this man's house? They might as well send him to a resort."

Emily tilted her head, her blonde waves falling across her shoulder. "At least it's a start, Jake."

"So he tortures my brother, murders my father, falsely imprisons God know how many people in hell holes, starts a war, and he gets what? _Grounded _by Uncle Sam?"

"What did Major Beck say?"

"He's 'investigating.'"

"Then let him investigate. The truth will come out. You have to believe that." Even as she said the words, she realized how hollow they sounded. Wasn't she holding proof in her hands that the truth didn't always come out, that everyone had some type of agenda? Emily studied his glowering expression. "Go find Eric. Tell him about Heather. It will make you both feel better."

"You know me so well."

"I always have." She pressed her lips to his again, wanting to taste him. She sighed against him and wondered how long the feeling would last.

He began backing away. "You should go see Heather."

"I'm going to find her right now," Emily replied as she watched Jake leave. He was always going elsewhere, though this time, she supposed she was to blame for telling him to go find Eric.

"Last I saw her, she was meeting with Major Beck at city hall," he called over his shoulder.

"Thanks. I'll catch you later," Emily replied with a wave before turning toward the Jericho City Hall.

In many ways, Emily was grateful that walking was still the preferred mode of transportation. Even with the presence of a federal government, shortages in gasoline were still a problem, particularly with the Republic of Texas holding the majority of the remaining oil refineries. Some complained because it took longer to get places, and they expected a replenishment of supplies overnight, but at this moment, Emily Sullivan was appreciative for the limited speed.

She walked past the Jennings and Rall tent, which had been set up in front of a building being renovated to house a more permanent J&R structure, exchanged pleasantries with a couple of her former students, and soon found herself outside the brick building emblazoned with the Kansas seal.

Yet she could not make herself go inside.

_You're being ridiculous_, she chastised herself. _This is your best friend. You should be beating down the door to see her! For pity's sake, she was going to stand up for you at your wedding! You've worked with her side by side for the last three years. Just take that step._

Yet she could not make herself go inside.

_You're going to have to face her. You're going to have to tell her sooner rather than later._

And still she did not go inside.

Emily stood for a few moments longer watching people enter and exit the building before tucking the textbook under her arm, burying her hands in her back pockets, and walking away.

* * *

Major Beck held his hands behind his back as one of his subordinates set up a tape recorder. The equipment was dated, but then again, what wasn't these days?

Heather studied the man. He was the picture of businesslike efficiency. He spoke only when necessary and, to Heather's untrained eyes, seemed to be constantly listening, watching, and studying his surroundings. His dark hair was cropped closely to his head; he wore fatigues that appeared amazingly crisp. His white teeth provided a startling contrast to his tanned skin though Heather noted that he did not smile.

"I will be recording our conversation." His eyes met hers. "With your permission, of course," he added after a brief pause.

"Of course." Heather sat in a wooden chair. The few offices in city hall given to Army served as a place to do daily business. The military presence was unnerving for some—Heather included—but others welcomed the symbol that a federal government was up and running. Yet as she studied the flag which had been erected in the corner of the room, she found it mirrored her own sense of incongruity. Its vertical stripes and the decided reduction of stars only served as a reminder that there was no turning back to what had been.

Major Beck circled her, pacing. Now that the debriefing had begun, she wondered if the uneasiness that was beginning to creep in was anything like what criminals felt during interrogations. She watched the major and averted her gaze to look at Lieutenant Hamilton. He sat in a chair and appeared to be taking notes. The affable lieutenant was now all business himself.

"For the record, please state your full name."

"Heather Rose Lisinski."

"How well do you know Jake Green?"

Heather's brows furrowed. What a loaded question—and completely unexpected. Surely Major Beck wasn't interested in hearing of her unrequited romantic feelings for Jake. There was another reason he was asking. But what was it? "I know him well enough to know that he's saved this town repeatedly. He's also a good man."

"He appeared very happy to see you."

"Well, coming back from the dead tends to have that effect on people. No offense, Major Beck, but did you call me in here to discuss New Bern or Jake Green?"

"Aren't they one in the same in some fashion?" Edward Beck raised an eyebrow. It was interesting to him how defensive Ms. Lisinski became where Jake Green was concerned.

Heather sipped from the Styrofoam coffee cup she'd been given minutes before and let the flavor of the brown liquid wash over her. How long had it been since she'd had actual coffee? Who knew that she would ever have considered it a luxury? "I'm not here to discuss Jake. I'm here to discuss my experiences in New Bern so that you can proceed with your investigation. Justice needs to be served."

"Would killing be involved in your brand of justice?"

Heather swallowed hard, and she felt her face grow hot. "We've had enough people die in our country. Don't you think?"

Beck found her response to be pleasantly surprising. "Why don't you tell me what happened in New Bern."

Heather took a deep breath, his pacing setting her on edge and too reminiscent of some even more unpleasant 'conversations' to which she had been subjected in New Bern. "I'm going to need you to sit down."

Major Beck raised an eyebrow, pulled forward a wooden chair, and sat. His body remained rigid, but he was more eye level with Heather. Two soldiers still flanked him. Heather noticed that Jacob Hamilton studiously kept his eyes on his legal pad. Had she committed some terrible faux pas by asking the major to sit?

Her eyes returned to the major, making eye contact. "Winter was coming. In years past, the sense of excitement at the harvest time was palpable. Last year, after the attacks, the shortages, and the influx of refugees, we were filled with dread. The EMP hit us, and we lost our power grid, as well as vital equipment. Our supply of fuel was dwindling. People were dying and still more were going to die.

"Jake Green, Johnston Green, Dale Turner, and I went to the Black Jack trading post at the old Black Jack fairgrounds. We hoped to trade salt from Gray Anderson's salt mine for a mechanical governor to get our windmills producing electricity. You see, a mechanical governor uses gears and flyweights inside of a crankcase to sense speed and detect changes in the load. In the case of a wind turbine, it's the wind that provides the movement. So the governor adjusts the throttle to compensate for those changes, and..."

Major Beck fought the urge to shake his head in amazement. This young woman obviously knew more about mechanical devices than many men. Though certainly, she was getting off topic, to an extent. A gentle nudging would be prudent. "Did you find one?"

"Sorry. I ramble sometimes. We found one, but the man who possessed it," Heather paused, remembering the manacles and bloody mattresses Dale discovered, "the man was not one we wanted to do business with. We realized we were going to look elsewhere."

"Why New Bern?"

"When we were at Black Jack, we came across a childhood friend of mine, Ted Lewis. He was there with some acquaintances from New Bern. They, too, were gearing up for a long, difficult winter and had gone to Black Jack in hopes of staving off starvation. New Bern had an old brake factory, and I believed we could salvage enough workable parts and supplies to get it operational again to produce the wind turbines Jericho needed."

"So Jericho needed the turbines with no way to produce them, and New Bern needed…"

"Everything." Heather sighed remembering how changed her hometown was when she arrived. Ravenwood had recently left its mark. Parts of the city were still smoldering. Entire families were homeless, and children descended on the truck in which she arrived begging for scraps of food just as vultures descend on a carcass. "I wanted to get the lights turned back on for Jericho, and if I could help New Bern get their factory back in order, they would have supplies to trade for goods they needed. It was supposed to make things better, not worse."

Major Beck studied the young woman who sat across from him. Emotions danced across her face. The hope she'd felt, the idealism that one person could make a positive difference was followed by disappointment and something else Beck could not entirely identify. Ms. Lisinski's features were youthful, but the look in her eyes shown one who had witnessed the worst of humanity. Beck had been seeing more and more of those expressions since the blast half a year earlier.

"The first arrangement we made called for a supply of salt for the wind turbine. I left Jake, Johnston, and Dale without even going back to Jericho. My friend Ted let me stay with him, and I went to work right away with others who had mechanical expertise.

"Working in the factory was fine at first. There were so many terrible things happening outside, but we were insulated in there. Within a day or two, we managed to cannibalize enough working pieces to get two lines open in the factory. We worked out the kinks in our wind turbine design. Everything seemed to fall into place so quickly, and more lines were opened.

"Periodically, Phillip Constantino, the sheriff, came to check on our progress. Shortly after I arrived, he also became 'mayor,' but he had more power than any mayor I had ever known. One of the men who worked in the factory with me—his name was Benny Harding—wasn't a fan of Constantino's, to say the least."

"Why do you say that?"

"Benny was a student of history. He saw Constantino's actions—the unlawful acquisition of private property, the detainment of people without reasonable cause—for what they were. The people had welcomed a dictator, but no one would say anything in protest, except Benny. You would have thought we were suddenly in Castro's Cuba. I saw Benny every day for over a week, and then one day, he disappeared. When I asked about him, I was told he went to stay with relatives, but the looks on the faces of the men around me suggested otherwise. I later found out that he had been shot to death execution style."

"What about Constantino? How often would you say you saw him?"

"Once we had the factory lines up and running, he spoke to me about the progress of the turbines every three to four days, but I saw him in the factory each day. Another project was getting started in a different section of the factory."

"The mortars."

"Yes."

"When did you realize mortar rounds were being manufactured?"

Heather swallowed hard. "When it was too late. The first wind turbine was delivered to Jericho. I planned to return with that shipment, but Constantino, Russell, and the others left without telling me. My stay in New Bern was no longer voluntary."

"So what did you do?"

"I went into denial. I tried to rationalize the things happening around me. I, um, stumbled upon a meeting room Constantino and the plant manager used and found a map of Jericho, along with a breakdown of the town's supplies." Heather's heart began to beat quickly, much as it did that night she found the contents of the meeting room. "Still, I talked myself into believing that this information had been gathered for trading purposes. It was only when ten Jericho men returned with Constantino as collateral for a deal brokered between the two towns that I realized what was happening. Even then, it took Eric Green challenging me to take off my rose colored glasses before I would accept it."

"And the mortars?"

"I traced the steps I'd seen Constantino take and found the mortar shells. I don't know how I kept from being noticed. Every piece suddenly clicked, and I could no longer deny what was happening. New Bern was preparing for war, and the map was a calling card for the divvying up Constantino planned to do with Jericho."

"Is this when you sabotaged the factory?" Beck asked shifting slighting in the wooden chair across from her.

Heather raised an eyebrow. "You know about that?"

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. "I've done my homework."

"I ran straight to Eric, told him what I'd seen, and we devised a plan. I managed to gain access to the factory late one night under the guise of being a workaholic. The guards knew me at this point, and despite my lack of natural flirting abilities, I did manage to flirt my way into the plant even though strict hours for entrance to the facility had long been established. Once I was inside, Eric created a distraction _outside_ to make it easier for me to maneuver within the corridors, basically pulling the internal security guards to the outside. I disabled as much of the line as I could with as much force as I could."

"And then you were caught?"

Heather nodded, and then realizing an audio recording was being made, added a vocal affirmation. "Yes, I was caught. Rule #10: Never be afraid to get your hands dirty. That rule applies to fixing cars _and_ sabotaging neighboring cities' munitions factories."

Though she spoke so matter-of-factly, Major Beck fought the impulse to smile.

Heather continued, "I went into this knowing that would be the likely outcome. Unfortunately, stealth has never been my strong suit. I was detected soon thereafter by the same guards who remembered my sorry attempts at flirtation. Eric was captured, as well. Constantino started having second thoughts about having ten able bodied Jericho men so close to his pet project. He arranged to have them returned, all in the guise of a good faith offering, minus Eric, of course. And then the party really began."

Heather closed her eyes. She heard her own screams, remnants of those memories. She saw the blood on her hands, the bloodshed she caused. She could still visualize Constantino's deputies pounding Eric mercilessly while the warlord looked on in approval. Subconsciously, she rubbed her hands together. Were they still sticky? They felt sticky. And was that copper she smelled?

Suddenly, the tempered glass door to the 'interrogation' room swung open, its sound forcing Heather's eyes open. "Major Beck, you have an incoming call from Colonel Hoffman. It is urgent."

Beck reached out to the tape recorder and pressed the stop button. "May we continue this at a later time?" He rose, taking the recorder with him. Heather noted that he did not wait for a response from her. Though his words were polite, his tone suggested her lack of a choice in the matter.

Still, she was grateful for the break, even if she did dread the continuation. She'd not yet been home, and she longed to be surrounded by her things once again, to take comfort in her books, the quilt her mother made her the year before she died, to hold her father's Bible again; she could go on and on with her list.

Maybe then she would be able to start feeling normal again.

The other soldiers exited, leaving only Heather and Lieutenant Hamilton. "I was right about you," he commented, his easy grin replacing the air of formality he'd taken on in Major Beck's presence. "You _are_ trouble."

"You have no idea," Heather muttered as she stood.

Lieutenant Hamilton leaned against the table. "So you and this Jake guy…are the two of you…?"

"No. No. He's…he's just a friend."

"Good, 'cause I think you can do a lot better."

Heather bristled. "You don't even know him! Jake is…" She stopped herself upon seeing the look of satisfaction on the young man's face. He was baiting her, and she'd fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.

"Right. Just a friend. I'll see you around, Ms. Lisinski. Welcome home to Jericho."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: "Crisis Du Jour"**

"Since when is Mr. Reliable so hard to track down?" Jake asked as he approached his brother who stood leaned over the hood of an 80's model Chevy truck writing on a clipboard.

It was easy to rib Eric; it always had been. Eric took everything in earnest, and Jake often joked he came out of the womb with a solemn expression. Whereas Jake had always been the family's rebel without a cause, Eric was the family's conformist with a cause. Well, multiple causes, actually, from his crusade to expand the animal shelter when he'd been in high school, to his attempts to implement mandatory recycling within city limits. If someone had a problem, they'd always go to Eric. Hell, even if people didn't come to Eric with their problems, he had a solution, whether it was solicited advice or not. To his face they called him Mr. Studious, Mr. Steadfast, and Mr. Reliable. Behind his back, he was sometimes known as Mr. Stick-up-his-Butt.

"You know, I just remembered the one great thing about not having cell phone service anymore," Eric replied as he looked up from his clipboard. The day was turning out to be a difficult one, and now Eric was beginning to get an inkling as to why Gray Anderson asked him to spearhead this information gathering process—and it wasn't just in spirit of kindness and unity. The task before them was enormous: rebuilding what had been destroyed and doing so with limited resources.

Just in assessing the property damage alone, Eric found himself growing discouraged. Following the New Bern War, a number of Jericho's citizens were without homes. Rationally, Eric knew that it was better to be facing the obstacle of finding shelter for nearly two hundred people as opposed to burying two hundred corpses. Still it wasn't easy watching people attempting to pick up the pieces of their lives.

Those who had family members with homes made arrangements to stay with them. Those who didn't were staying in the basements of the local churches, in the school gymnasium, and in the homes of citizens willing to shelter them. Still, none of those was a permanent solution. Reconstruction efforts needed to get underway sooner rather than later. And here they were, four weeks after the war, and the problem still went unsolved.

Eric tried to imagine what his father would have done in a similar situation. He found himself wondering all the time, and sometimes when he tuned out the rest of the world, he could almost believe that he heard his father's voice in his ear, still offering guidance and support. _You've got to give them hope and then hope to God to back it up with something substantive, _he could imagine Johnston Green telling him over a cup of coffee with a shot of bourbon thrown in for good measure.

And then a new reminder would signal that his father was gone forever.

"You'll be eating those words," Jake retorted.

Eric cocked his head. Something in the way his brother spoke, his 'I know something you don't know' tone, caught Eric's attention. "It better be good."

"It's better than good. It's Heather. She's back."

"That's incredible!" Eric beamed and gestured broadly, dropping his clipboard in the process. Jake bent over and picked it up for his brother, knocking him in the bread basket with it. "But how? I'd been told she was dead! What happened to her? Where has she been all this time?"

Jake smiled. Was Eric going to stop long enough to take a breath? "I don't know yet. We've not had the chance to say much more than hello to one another."

"How did she look?" Eric asked, his tone growing more serious. He owed Heather Lisinski a debt that could never be repaid, and he had worried on more than one occasion that she suffered for it.

"Too thin but otherwise in one piece." Jake tried to sound nonchalant, but the truth was she was a sight for sore eyes. He had forgotten how blue her eyes were, how her nose crinkled when she smiled, how…Jake pushed the thoughts from his mind. "Beck whisked her away before I could find out much."

Eric groaned. "What did _he_ want with her?"

"More of his 'investigation.'"

Eric shook his head in disbelief. "That's bureaucracy for you. Jake, I can't believe this! God, I needed this good news."

"Things not going well for you out here?"

Eric ran his hand through his hair, exhaling loudly. "You ever have so much to do that you don't even know where to start? How do we begin to get back to normal when we've got two hundred people homeless? Jennings and Rall sent around inspectors to survey the damage; too bad they aren't sending around construction crews."

"Yeah. I asked about that. Their official story: they're getting the city infrastructure operating first."

"Well, I can understand getting the electric grid repaired and the phone lines, but let's face it. There are greater needs on their hands than renovating office space for the Army," Eric replied, his voice dripping with bitterness. "Those apartment buildings over on Oak Street were a total loss, along with a portion of the Deer Haven subdivision."

Jake's heart dropped. "Did you say Oak Street?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Damn." He looked around him, unconsciously rubbing his chin. "Dammit."

"What?"

"Heather. She lived in the Oak Street Apartments."

Eric squeezed his fists, slamming his clipboard down on the hood of the truck. "Jake, she's come back to nothing."

"I've got to find her, tell her. I don't want her to find out by showing up to a burned out shell."

* * *

It had taken Heather Lisinski some time to walk to her apartment. Between the two and a half mile distance and the fact she kept running into people she knew, her progress was slow. When she did finally make it there, she questioned whether she was even in the right place. A green street sign confirmed her location, though.

"I left it right here," Heather muttered to herself as she stood outside the remnants of a two story apartment building. What had once been a substantial brown brick building was partially gutted. Its outer walls stood against the cool spring breeze, but its roof had collapsed. Numbly, she moved toward the charred remains of what had been her building_—her home—_and her feet hit pieces of…what was that…a kitchen blender?

"Heather!" Jake Green's long legs quickly carried his lean body. Seeing her standing alone in front of the rubble, he felt sick inside. How long had she been standing here like this before he got to her?

"It's gone, Jake. It's all gone."

Her apartment hadn't been very big, but it had been her haven. In the winter, she used to love to sit on the hearth of the small fireplace and feel the warmth of the fire on her back. In those months without electricity, she'd read by the fire, gorged herself with roasted marshmallows from the remains of a stale package, and worked through various versions of wind turbine designs, as well as plans for making some household necessities.

Her entire history had been contained within the small apartment. Her parents' wedding album had been on the bookcase. Her father's Bible sat on the nightstand next to the full-size oak bed he had made for her when she turned fifteen.

No more. It was all gone.

Jake placed his hand on the small of her back as he stood next to her. "I'm sorry. When I realized your building was hit, I tried to get to you before you saw it. I didn't want you to find out this way." Though he spoke to her, she stared straight ahead, her face passive. Heather's lack of expression worried Jake far more than if she'd broken down into histrionics.

"My neighbors…do you know anything about them? If they made it, I mean?" She spoke so calmly, so evenly, it set Jake on edge.

"When the attacks began, it was during the day. Most of the people weren't home. There were a few minor injuries, but everyone's safe."

"Safe," Heather replied numbly. "That's good."

Jake placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her away from the building. He needed to get her away from the site. Yet she turned her head, still intent on surveying the damage. "Please look at me."

She shook her head slightly, ignoring his request. "We might be able to salvage some of the brick for other projects. I saw there was quite a bit of repair work to be done in town. We should be able to find enough clay and gypsum to make our own version of concrete mortar and…"

"Heather, look at me."

"…we can get Jericho looking as good as new."

"Look at me!"

"If I look at you, Jake, I am absolutely going to lose it!" Heather's voice trembled, her first outward sign of her internal turmoil.

"Look at me," he replied, his voice barely a whisper.

Tears pooled in her eyes, and at last, she turned and peered up at him. Even six months after meeting him, she still found herself startled by his good looks. His high cheekbones, his expressive brow, the wry, dimpled smile she saw him display more than once. Yet what was most appealing to Heather now was the sincerity she could see exuding from him, so much so, she could almost reach out and grasp it in her hands. His dark eyes focused on her, shining with so much concern, Heather thought she might drown in them.

Jake cradled Heather's face in his hands, gently wiping the tears that finally spilled down her cheeks. "You are not alone in this. Do you hear me?"

She nodded silently, and he pulled her toward him. The wind kicked up again, but Heather Lisinski was sheltered in Jake Green's arms. After months of uncertainty, months of looking over her shoulder, she felt safe.

Jake could feel her body quivering, and he held her more tightly, willing her pain to go away. If only willpower were enough. After a few moments, her crying eased into an occasional sniffle.

"What I wouldn't do for a Kleenex right now," she moaned feeling mortified over the large wet area she'd left on Jake's t-shirt.

Jake pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to her. "It's not a Kleenex, but it should do." She gratefully accepted the hankie. He brushed a stray lock of hair that had fallen across her forehead. "Come home with me. We've got an extra room since Eric moved out."

Heather almost choked, stifling a giggle despite the seriousness of her situation. She wiped her tears and nose. "Jake Green, don't be ridiculous. You couldn't even stomach the idea of a road trip with me. How are you going to feel having me in your house?"

Jake stiffened. His regrets kept coming back to haunt him. "I was wrong, Heather, about so many things. I can't go back and undo them, but I wish you would let me make it up to you." He'd left more than his share of devastation in his wake, but try as he might, beat himself up as he might, what was done was done. The only thing he could do now was move forward.

"I'll be fine, Jake. Really. I'm like a cat. I always land on my feet. Wait, scratch the cat part. I'm allergic to them. But if I weren't allergic to them…" Heather's face grew warm. Oh, she was rambling again, and the look of amusement on Jake's face made her feel inordinately self-conscious. "I'll find someplace else. Maybe Emily…"

"Emily took in some of the airplane survivors that came with Roger, as well as Kenchy Duwalia."

"Her house is big."

"My parents' house is bigger _and_ it has a spare bedroom. This will just be temporary, until we get things rebuilt."

"Shouldn't you at least talk to you mom about this?"

Her question made Jake smile. She was starting to cave. "Are you kidding me? She'll have my hide if I _don't _bring you home with me."

"You are so hard to resist," Heather replied, smiling despite her turmoil, though she was certain her face was turning a shade of crimson when she saw Jake looked exceedingly pleased with himself. "That didn't come out the way I meant it. What I meant to say was…"

"I _am_ hard to resist."

"Will your house be big enough for me _and_ your ego, Jake Green?"

"Only one way to find out. Come on," he replied extending his hand. She accepted it, and he took her away from the Oak Street ruins.

"What if I were to tell you I have a surprise for you?" he asked as they walked side by side, hand-in-hand.

"I think I've had enough surprises for one day," she replied. Heather fought to keep her tone light, but Jake could hear the strain in her voice.

"Oh, but this is one you'll like."

"Where is it?"

"Back at city hall. It's definitely worth the detour."

Heather frowned, remembering her last time at city hall had been for the purpose of a debriefing—a debriefing of events she'd rather not relive. "It's strange seeing the military there. You'd think I'd be used to them by now, but I'm not."

Jake realized he'd not had the chance to hear where she'd been, let alone how she managed to escape from New Bern. "Have you been with the military all this time?"

Heather shook her head. "Not all this time. As best as I can piece together, after I escaped from New Bern, I was found by a military convoy. I'd been in an accident, and I was unconscious. This was about four weeks ago. When I awoke, I was in Camp Liberty. I met a man named Colonel Hoffman and begged him to come here because New Bern was planning an attack."

"It was you!" Jake marveled. "You're the reason the military interceded in the battle. Do you realize that you're the reason there even _is _a Jericho?"

"You're making me out to be a hero, Jake, and I assure you that I am anything but a hero. The thing is, Colonel Hoffman told me he couldn't come here. Intervention was not part of his orders."

Jake furrowed his brows. He'd met Colonel Hoffman once, shortly after the end of the war. "But they did come. So what changed?"

"I don't know," Heather replied. "I mean, he seemed very disinterested in what he viewed as a regional skirmish at first, but when I spoke to him later…"

Understanding settled in for Jake, as though a missing puzzle piece were suddenly found. The military presence wasn't just about securing Jericho and the surrounding towns. That was their guise but not their purpose.

Jake had a very clear idea of what their purpose was. He needed to see Robert Hawkins, who seemed to have dropped off the face of the Earth.

"Are you okay?" Heather asked, noting the look of unease on Jake's face.

Edward Beck had asked him earlier that day if he was going to be part of the problem or part of the solution. There was no doubt. Jake was definitely part of the problem.

Jake dodged her question. "Your debriefing with Major Beck—how did that go?"

Heather shrugged. "He was polite for the most part. Very businesslike. Though he did ask me about you. Why is that?"

"Let's just say I've made an impression upon him."

Heather had the distinct feeling that there was more to the story than what Jake offered. When she'd arrived, it had been in the middle of a confrontation between the two men. "Things seemed tense between the two of you earlier today."

"And they'll be tense tomorrow," Jake replied, trying to downplay the conflict. "And the day after that. I don't want the military here."

"The argument was about Constantino," Heather remembered. She suppressed a shudder when she thought of the man. The thought that he was only thirty minutes away by car completely unnerved her. Logically, she knew the likelihood that he would escape from the military guards was slim to none. On the other hand, Heather had witnessed what she had once considered the impossible, starting that day on the school bus when she saw the mushroom cloud.

"Chalk it up to the usual government 'efficiency.' New government, same problem."

"When I go back to speak with Major Beck to finish our interview, maybe what I'll say will urge him to speed things along."

Jake stopped in his tracks and turned to his companion. "How did you do it, Heather? How _did_ you make it out?"

Heather cleared her throat. "It's a long story."

"Is that code for, 'Don't ask me that, Jake'?"

"I will tell you sometime. I promise. I just want to get my head screwed on straight first, you know? I feel like Sam Beckett."

"The poet?"

Heather laughed lightly as they began to walk again. "You give me way too much credit. I'm not nearly so high brow. No, I was thinking of Sam Beckett from _Quantum Leap_; it was one of the few shows I was allowed to watch growing up. Do you remember that show?"

"The one where the scientist travels back in time and tries to set right whatever's gone wrong in the past?"

"Mmhmm. And 'hoping each time that his next leap will be the leap home.' That's the one."

Mock seriousness filled Jake's voice. "Heather, are you telling me that you've found the secret to the space-time continuum and that you are a time traveler?"

"Smart aleck!" she playfully jabbed at his arm.

Jake chuckled. "I'm getting beat up by a girl."

"Poor baby. You know, Sam goes back in time, and the episode always starts out with him being in a situation where the world is falling down around his ears, and yet he doesn't have a clue what's going on. That's me right now."

"But you have to admit that I make a far better sidekick than Al."

Heather raised an eyebrow and shook her head. "I'm sure you've been many things to many people. But a sidekick? I'm doubting that. Frankly, I'm halfway shocked no one has run up to you with a crisis du jour." She stopped and thought for a moment, realization dawning on her. "Oh, no. I'm your crisis of the day."

Jake echoed her words. "I'm sure you've been many things to many people. But a crisis of the day? I'm doubting that. Maybe a crisis of the week…"

"Watch it, Mister! Remember—I know where you live."

Jake held his hands up in imaginary surrender.

"Thank you, Jake."

"What? For the unconditional surrender?"

"For making me laugh even though it's been a crummy day. I'm glad to be back, and you're a big part of that."

They walked in a comfortable silence, falling into step with one another. Jake buried his hands in his pockets, and for the first time in a long time, he felt content.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: "For the Land of the Sheep and the Home of the Wolves"**

"Charlotte! I've missed her so much!" Heather nearly squealed.

Jake liked the way Heather's eyes lit up. After the day she'd had, she deserved some semblance of happiness, no matter how minute. "Well, she's looking a little worse for the wear, but…"

"Don't let _her_ hear you say that," Heather said as she stroked the side of her faded red and white truck. She brought her hand away from the metal, along with a layer of dust and dirt. Heather had bought the ancient Dodge truck in high school, after working two summers to earn the money to pay for it. In fact, it had been the subject of much ridiculing, but it was hers, and, amazingly, it was still there in one piece. "She just has character."

Heather pulled on the door handle, not really expecting it to open. It had been so long, she couldn't remember whether she had thought to lock it. Surprisingly, the door creaked open. "I need to oil your hinges, don't I, girl?" Heather turned back to Jake. "I can't believe the truck is still here." She climbed into the cab, settling into the worn driver's seat. The tattered upholstery, even the truck's very scent, soothed Heather.

Jake leaned against the side of the dilapidated vehicle. He wasn't particularly surprised that the truck was still there. Half the people in town were afraid to get near it for fear it might explode. That, and the fact the gasoline had already been siphoned out of its tank made it clear the truck wasn't going anywhere. "Just waiting for you to get back."

Except they'd believed her to be dead. The thought still sent chills down Heather's spine, almost as if someone had walked on her grave. She tried to push the thoughts aside. "You're right. This is the _best_ surprise."

She looked up at the sun visor and pulled off a photograph that had been clipped to it. It was faded, but Heather could still make out the features of the gray haired man in the picture. It occurred to her that this might be the only surviving photo she had of her father, and she fought back tears. Nearly six years had passed since her father's death, and in that time, she'd for the most part managed to work through the deep seated grief she'd felt and put his life and death in perspective. But sometimes…oh, sometimes she would have done anything to see him again.

"Did Emily ever find you?"

Jake's words shook Heather from her thoughts, and she tucked the photo into a small canvas bag she found in the truck. "Um, no. But I'd love to see her. We have so much catching up to do. Did she and Roger get married while I was gone? Did I miss the big shindig?"

Jake cleared his throat feeling slightly uncomfortable. "No. No, they didn't."

"So when's the date?"

"Roger had to leave town," Jake explained. "It's a long story, but I'm sure Emily will fill you in."

Heather furrowed her brows. She'd spent quite a bit of time with Emily and Roger and knew how devoted Roger Hammond had been to her best friend. The big city boy had given up being near his family and the perks urban life had to offer because making Emily happy was his first priority. Why would he just leave?

Wait, Jake said he _had_ to leave. What was going on?

"You got awfully tight lipped all of a sudden, Jake."

Jake frowned. Why was he avoiding this conversation? It wasn't as if his renewed relationship with Emily was a secret. Besides, he and Heather had never had much more than a flirtation, let alone been committed to one another, so what was the big deal?

"A lot has changed since you left, Heather."

Heather pointed to herself. "Sam Beckett here." She watched as Jake shifted nervously, and fears began to plague her. "At least tell me if Emily is okay!"

"She's fine," Jake assured her and watched as relief flooded over Heather's countenance. "She and I—"

"I thought it was you!"

Jake and Heather both turned to see Eric approaching them in the parking lot. A grin spread across his bearded face, equal in scope to the one that filled Heather's features. She slid out of the truck and straight into Eric's outstretched arms. While the two had been casual acquaintances before New Bern, it was during their time of imprisonment, their time of life and death struggle, that a bond had been forged between them.

Eric held her tightly, noting how incredibly tiny she felt. Lowering his head, he whispered in her ear, "I was so afraid I would never see you again."

Heather was half laughing and half crying. "That's _my_ line. I was so scared for you, Eric." And she had been.

"We made it, you and me."

"The _dangerous_ pair." Laughter won out over tears as Heather and Eric shared a private joke.

Jake watched the prolonged embrace and the bantering. It seemed so incredibly intimate to him. He knew that Heather and Eric had been caged together, but the ease in which they held each other and interacted surprised him.

"Let me look at you," he replied, taking hold of her hands but otherwise pulling away. His eyes confirmed what his body felt. She had indeed lost weight. "I'm going to get Mary to feed you."

She squeezed his hands. "If she happens to have burgers back on the menu, I would crawl over man and beast to get to her."

"Wyoming _is_ cattle country."

"About the only nice thing about the new government," Jake added.

Heather watched the look the brothers exchanged. She was missing something. Oh, yes, she was _definitely_ missing something. "From watching all the video feeds, I thought things were getting much better," Heather commented warily. "At least as far as supplies, food, and medicine were concerned." Politically was another story altogether.

Jake cleared his throat. "Armageddon happens, but propaganda is alive and well."

"Things are a little different than what the news reports suggest. Rebuilding has gone really slowly," Eric added by way of explanation to Heather. "Locally, we've got the manpower, but the supplies and equipment are another story entirely."

"So I noticed," Heather replied sardonically, thinking back to her own burned out apartment.

"I'm really sorry about your apartment, Heather. I know how it feels." Eric recalled that cool autumn day when a fire gutted his home. At the same time his house was engulfed in flames, the Jericho Library was also on fire. A choice had to be made about which to save. The choice was clear.

Heather nodded. "You're one of the few people who could." She squeezed his hands one last time and then let go. "You know," she began, turning to Jake, "you're right about the propaganda. When I was transferred to Camp Hayward, my information was limited to what few news reports were being looped on television. Even then, they were variations of a fluff piece on the rise of President Tomarchio."

"What about the people around you?" Eric asked. "What did they say about what was going on?"

"Well, between being unconscious for about two weeks and spending the other half of the time trying to get back here, there wasn't much information flowing. When I did have the chance to speak with people like Lieutenant Hamilton, for instance, they all towed the party line, virtually recycling what was being said on television. You two probably know far more than I do."

"And so it begins," Jake sighed taking a few steps away from his companions, his back to them. "If the same story keeps getting repeated, people will eventually believe it." He watched the bustle of the activity on Main Street. A small group was gathered across the street at the Jennings and Rall tent.

"Enough to forget that there was never an election?" Eric asked.

Jake turned back to face his brother. "You saw what it was like after the bombs. How the people panicked."

"Firsthand," Eric acknowledged. He had been his father's right-hand man and, in the process, had tried to put out more than his share of proverbial fires, in addition to actual fires. The first trial by fire came on the day of the attacks themselves; Heather's group of third graders had been on a field trip and had not returned. The parents gathered at city hall, understandably anxious. As the day wore on, people began hording gasoline and other supplies, paranoia taking the town to the brink of riot. The next day they faced a storm carrying radioactive fallout. After that, the EMP, Ravenwood, the pseudo Marines, Rogue River, the influx of refugees, shortages, the New Bern War. The list could go on. Throughout all of it, everyone's stamina, everyone's coping abilities were stretched to the point of snapping. "People want safety."

"And they'll willingly sacrifice their liberty to get it."

"And a wolf in sheep's clothing," Eric began.

"Can lead the lambs to the slaughter," Jake finished.

"Okay. Wait a second. You guys are scaring me. First off, you're getting along _and_ finishing each other's clichés. Next, are you suggesting that a coup d'état happened right under our noses?" Heather asked. "In the land of the free and the home of the brave? Apple pie? Baseball? Buy one get one free?"

"We shouldn't talk about this out here," Jake responded, watching as a small group of soldiers about fifty feet away passed on the sidewalk.

"But we should talk," Eric said, meeting his brother's eyes.

"Yeah."

Eric turned back to Heather. "You're welcome to bunk with Mary and me until rebuilding gets underway. We have an extra bedroom."

Heather smiled. "You're very sweet, Eric, but you and Mary need your privacy. Besides, Jake has already offered me your old room."

Jake bridged the short distance between himself and Heather, standing by her side. "Heather's going to stay with Mom and me. I'm guessing she knows about your snoring problem. That must have clinched the deal for her."

Heather playfully hit Jake in the chest with the back of her hand. "Be nice."

"Notice how she didn't deny it," Jake laughed.

Eric studied his brother. It was good to see him smile again, to see him joking around. Since their father's death, Jake had two moods: bad and worse.

"Well, on that note, I'm going to pull a few things out of Charlotte, if they're still there," Heather commented as she walked back to her truck.

Eric waited until he saw Heather reach behind the driver's seat, seemingly lost in her actions, and then turned back to his brother. With his voice low, he began, "You know I have to ask."

"Ask what?" Jake asked.

"Does Emily know she's back?" Eric gestured toward Heather.

Jake shrugged. "Sure she does. She's excited about it."

"From the looks of it, Emily's not the only person excited to have Heather back here."

Jake nearly snorted. "What do you want me to say? Of course I'm happy to see her. For that matter, so were you. What's the big deal?"

"Won't it be messy?"

"They're best friends. Why would that be messy?"

Eric's eyes widened. Surely Jake wasn't that disingenuous. "You and Heather had something going on before she left, and maybe it was going nowhere. I don't know. You tell me, but now you're back together with Emily."

"Eric, do you really want to be the one offering me relationship advice?" Jake asked pointedly.

Eric's expression hardened; Jake's words coming at him may as well have been a physical attack. "You always do that." His teeth were clenched.

Jake knew his words were cutting, but sometimes his brother's sanctimonious attitude drove him up the wall. Who asked for Eric's advice anyway? "Do what?"

"Deflect when it gets uncomfortable for you. Look, I don't want to see anyone get hurt. Be upfront with Heather, okay?" With that, Eric joined Heather at her truck.

Jake watched as the two shared a goodbye hug and whispered a few words. Eric's expression appeared grave, even more so than usual, before the two parted.

"What was that about?" Jake asked as his brother disappeared down the sidewalk.

Heather hesitated. A part of her hated to say anything for fear of further opening a gaping wound. Jake could see her hesitation. "I was expressing my condolences."

"You and Eric have become good friends."

"Yeah. We understand each other pretty well, warts and all."

Jake lifted an eyebrow. His brother was the golden child. Straight A's, a good athlete, the dutiful son, the one who lived up to everyone's expectations except for that pesky matter of infidelity. What did he know about warts? What did Heather, either, for that matter? "You? Warts?"

"I'm not the same person who left Jericho," she said quietly. "Besides, none of us is all good or all bad." Heather knew. She'd spent her entire life trying to be 'good,' trying to treat others with kindness, trying to give back to her community, trying to be a good daughter, a good friend, trying, trying, trying. And yet in one instant, she'd done the worst thing imaginable to another human being. How she'd struggled with that over the last few weeks, alternating between feeling heartsick over it and resigned to the fact that she couldn't change the past.

Jake sensed her melancholy. He'd made a number of assumptions about Heather, that she was untouched by the craziness that blew into their lives six months ago. Yet as he looked in her eyes and considered her words, he realized that she was holding on to more than she had shared, something that wasn't sweetness and light the way he imagined Heather's life, in general, to be.

"Let's go home."

Heather retrieved her small canvas bag from the truck and the two began their walk to the Green house.

* * *

Gray Anderson strode through the lobby of city hall. The makeshift memorial to Johnston Green caught his eye, as it had for the last month each time he passed through the entrance. Even after death, the man was still overshadowing him, as people made comparisons between the mayor and former mayor. Sometimes they were subtle about it, and Gray could see it in their expressions. At other times, they were blatant. How many times had he heard Jimmy start with, "Well, Mayor Green used to…." before Gray would cut him off? He hated to hear that almost as much as "We've got a problem," Jimmy's other favorite line.

_Damn martyrdom_, Gray thought to himself. Weren't things getting better? Isn't that why people elected him in the first place, because they wanted circumstances to get better? Sure, there were things that could be improved upon, but nothing was ever going to be perfect.

The transformation in Jericho was astounding. Much of the town center had been rebuilt. Businesses that had been closed were open again, from the clothing store on Main Street to the appliance mart. The medical center was functioning well, its once meager supplies replenished. A distribution center had been set up for food and other necessities. The farmers outside of town were preparing their fields for crops, as they always did this time of year. Things were looking up.

Sure, there were a few changes. Dale Turner still had Gracie Leigh's open, but he wasn't taking the conventional route to restocking. Gray had heard that Dale was working with some of the road gangs and commandeering supplies, but he hadn't fully investigated the means by which Dale earned money. He was too busy trying to stave off Skyler Stevens's attempts at influencing the running of the salt mine.

The CyberJolt Café was no longer in business, either, as the attacks of October 1 fried much of the infrastructure required to make the Internet in the U.S. fully functional; from what he'd heard, the EMP also had its effect on the mega routers, whatever those were. Jennings and Rall were refurbishing 

the old CyberJolt Café building, turning it into their new regional headquarters. That would mean the possibility of new jobs for the Jericho residents.

If only people would remember that come the next election cycle.

As Gray walked into his office and settled in his chair, he felt at a loss. He came in more out of a habit and for appearance sake, but in so many regards, his hands were tied. Major Beck had taken over much of the day-to-day operation of the town. He didn't mind that so much. Gray considered himself more of a delegator anyway. Still, it was important for the people of Jericho to have a figurehead, someone they could turn to with their concerns.

"Gray, I need to talk to you."

Gray looked up from his desk to see Eric Green standing in the doorway. Gray had mixed feelings about Eric. Eric was efficient and hard-working. He cared about what happened to Jericho, no doubt about that. Still, there was always the sense that the younger man viewed him as a usurper in his late father's office. The fact Eric carried himself the way Johnston Green did, down to sporting a beard akin to his late father's, didn't help any.

Eric dropped the clipboard on Gray's desk. He'd spent an inordinate amount of time gathering information that specified the damage to buildings, what was salvageable and wasn't, and getting an overview of what would be needed in order to repair and rebuild. In an ideal situation, the owners of the buildings would have insurance agents working on the information, making necessary arrangements from both a materials and financial standpoint. It was difficult to work out those details, however, when (a) the insurance industry had been so overwhelmed it folded and (b) building materials were scarce.

"Well?" Gray Anderson glanced over the clipboard Eric gave to him. "What do you want me to do with this?"

"I thought you might like an update on what's going on out there," Eric gestured to the window of the office. "It's slow going."

Gray frowned skimming through the information on the clipboard. "Once again, what do you want me to do with this?"

"You're the mayor. Use your clout with Beck."

Gray tossed the clipboard across his desk in Eric's direction and nearly guffawed. "I'm glad _someone_ thinks I have clout. Listen, there's only so much that can be done at a time. And really, from where I'm sitting, things are looking good."

Eric's eyes narrowed. It was easy for Gray Anderson to say that life was good. He wasn't sleeping on the floor in a room with twenty-five other people. "Try telling that to the two hundred people who are staying with relatives, in the church basement, at the gymnasium..."

Gray held up his hand to silence Eric. "We have power restored to seventy percent of the town, clean water, food supplies are being replenished, winter is over, and, oh yeah, the neighboring town didn't wipe us off the map. So if people have to be inconvenienced a while longer, so be it. A little inconvenience pales in comparison to what we've been through."

Eric walked to the office door and closed it. With his voice muted, though still urgent, he asked, "Why are the military still here?" He began to pace back and forth. Eric's nervous movements were adding to Gray's unease.

"To help. Or to keep us from getting in another war, I suppose. Why do I care? As long as our people are safe and fed."

Eric flashed back to his conversation with Jake and Heather a few minutes earlier. His brother was convinced the people would relinquish liberty in favor of security, and Gray Anderson seemed to be the embodiment of that sentiment. But how secure were they really?

"Heather Lisinski came back today."

Gray nearly groaned. He had nothing personal against Heather Lisinski, other than the fact she was a know-it-all. When Scott Rennie lost his cool in the mine, she'd pressed both him and Shep so hard about Scott's death that Shep folded from the guilt. Then there was her role in the New Bern attacks themselves. "I saw her in Beck's office. I'm glad for your sake and hers, too, but she could've saved us a lot of trouble if she'd not gone to New Bern in the first place. Let's face it. She's the one who helped them get their factory back in working order. Maybe you should talk with _her _about the repair work since it was those mortars that did the damage."

Eric shook his head. "You, of all people, should know how we were coming apart at the seams. We needed those turbines."

Gray unconsciously touched his abdomen. His gunshot wound was healing, but the area remained tender. "Turbines, yes. Being bombed? No."

"We can argue this point all day, but what's done is done. Now we have to decide how to fix it."

"A few doors down are some very cheerful Jennings and Rall employees. Talk with them about construction materials. They're handling acquisitions. My hands are tied."

"What _can_ you do, Gray?"

"Other than listen to complaints all day? Look, we've got martial law. Yes, there are restrictions. We don't have as much of a say in what goes on. I'll grant you that. You might not like it, but it's better than the alternative."

Eric looked at the new flag which adorned the corner of the office. He couldn't get used to it. "_Posse Comitatus_."

"Huh?" To Gray, it sounded like Eric said, "Potsie coming to us," and he knew there was no way that Eric was discussing _Happy Days_.

"_Posse Comitatus._ It was an act passed by Congress at the end of the Reconstruction following the Civil War. Basically, it said the military was prohibited from taking control from local and state law enforcement in the areas of law and order. Last year, this law was repealed, a law that had been on the books for over a century, through a new defense bill, The Defense Authorization Act of 2007. This defense authorization bill gave broad powers to the President, including the authority to use the military as law enforcement officers, thereby severely negating local autonomy, legally speaking."

"Finally putting that law degree and extensive vocabulary to work, I see. Why are you giving me the history lesson?"

Eric continued, "The _Posse Comitatus_ law was repealed on September 30, essentially taking away local powers in the event of an emergency. The attacks happened October 1."

Gray nearly grunted. "The military is doing what we couldn't do for ourselves. Do you really think that Jimmy, Bill, or Robert Hawkins—wherever he's gone to—could take care of what needs doing? We tried that, remember? And your brother? He's so eaten up with vengeance, there'd never be an end to the conflict. We'd be beating each other down until we were back to the age of stone knives and bear skins."

"Do I have to draw you a map, Gray?" Eric asked in exasperation, rubbing the back of his head. "You heard the reports that came out of New York. The terrorists caught with the bomb, the ones who had the phony FBI badges, were Americans. This was an inside job, a well-planned inside job. Is it so insane to suggest that everything that has happened, including the repeal of _Posse Comitatus,_ has been to rebuild our country in another image?"

Gray's face grew red, and the vein in his neck protruded. "I've been out there, remember? I've seen how it was after the bombs. We should be on our knees thanking the Cheyenne government for helping us here!"

"Doesn't any of this seem wrong to you?"

Gray pointed at Eric. "I think what seems wrong to _you_ is that I'm sitting in this chair and your father isn't. That's what this is about. You need another crisis, Eric, another problem to solve so you don't have to face what you've lost."

Eric's jaw clenched. It was ironic to him that Gray accused him of feeding on crises. Wasn't that how Gray was elected in the first place? Inciting the public to panic because he thought he could do a better job than Johnston Green? And here he was, barely doing any job at all.

"I mentioned Heather to you because she didn't come alone. She was accompanied by a convoy consisting of no fewer than three hundred soldiers. If we're to listen to the military and Jennings and Rall, who keep repeating that the situation is improving, why continue to bring in more men?"

Gray sighed heavily, stopping long enough to think. "Assuming for one minute you're onto something, what do you want me to do?"

A tinge of hope rose in Eric. "For starters, I want you to find out why the military is still here. The real reason, because I don't buy for one minute that it's all about keeping the peace."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** This alternate reality Jericho fanfic mostly takes place after the end of season 1, though some of the action from season 1 is highly referenced. While I am a huge fan of the show and was delighted that it returned for an abbreviated season, one of the things missed during this second season was the character interaction, as well as the emotions that go along with putting back the pieces of broken lives. Also, since my favorite character, Heather Lisinski, was not been featured as prominently, I took it upon myself to (A) put together the backstory of where she's been and what she's done and (B) write what I would have liked to see happen upon her return. Be warned that I do tend to delve into all things sappy, though as the story progresses, I will be incorporating Jericho's action/adventure aspects, as well, with my own twists.

Any constructive feedback you can offer would be cherished, as this is my first attempt at a Jericho-based story.

* * *

**Chapter Six: "Old Infatuations and New Smiles"**

When Jake and Heather arrived at his childhood home, they met Gail Green who was coming home from her shift at the clinic. Upon seeing Heather, the older woman took the younger woman in her arms.

Seeing Eric go to New Bern had been difficult for Gail, particularly as she and her younger son had not been on good terms when he departed. Gail had been harsh upon learning of Eric's affair with Mary, and their family had just suffered the loss of April and her first grandchild. She'd agonized over the fact Eric was in New Bern as an unofficial hostage, whose status later became official.

Gail had a great debt to pay the young lady who stood before her with her elder son. It was the homemade ice Heather Lisinski had made that had helped keep Johnston alive when he was so ill with influenza. It was Heather who worked to get electricity for Jericho again, in the form of a wind turbine, a machine that enabled the clinic to keep running. It was Heather who helped to keep Eric alive long enough for Jake and Robert Hawkins to mount a rescue in New Bern.

"Heather, it's so good to see you. I'd heard…" Gail's voice trailed off. They'd been faced with too much death lately. She knew that more than anyone. The ache in her heart was palpable when she thought of Johnston, _her Johnston_, her stubborn, strong, teddy-bear of a husband. Well-meaning people kept telling her that it would get easier, but the void was, at times, more than she could abide. Keeping busy helped, but at night when the house was quiet, she found herself thinking constantly of her Johnston. His end came far too soon. Gail found her voice again. "I heard you had been killed. I'm so glad it isn't true."

"Thank you," Heather replied as she pulled away from Gail. "I'm so sorry about Mayor Green. He was one of a kind." Though Gray Anderson had become Jericho's mayor, it was hard for Heather to call Johnston Green anything other than Mayor Green. His level-headedness had seen the town through more than one close encounter.

Gail nodded. "He was indeed." She sighed slightly. "I know he would have been delighted to see that you made it back."

Jake squeezed his mother's shoulder as the three walked in the house. "You know how you said the other day that this place has been too quiet? Heather is going to help us remedy that."

Heather's heart started pounding. She was starting to have misgivings over Jake's offer. What if Mrs. Green didn't want an outsider intruding upon her home? The timing of it all couldn't have been worse; their family deserved time to grieve privately. Was Jake going to be putting his mother in a horribly awkward situation?

"Jake, maybe you should talk with her about this instead of just springing it on her," Heather began nervously. She fretfully chewed on her bottom lip.

"Trust me," Jake responded.

"What are you up to?" Gail asked knowing that she was definitely missing something.

"Heather lived over at the Oak Street apartments, the ones that burned down the day of the attack."

"Oh, Heather! I'm so sorry!" Gail exclaimed. "Do you have someplace to stay?"

"Well…"

"You'll stay with us," Gail stated firmly. Her tone left no room for discussion.

"I honestly don't want to impose on you, Mrs. Green."

"Please call me Gail. And you, my dear, are no imposition. I'm going upstairs to get your room ready. No arguments." Gail smiled before hurrying up the stairs.

Jake turned to Heather with a smile, looking inordinately pleased with himself. "Told you so."

"Yes, you did," Heather conceded.

"Did you see the look on her face, Heather? I've not seen her this upbeat in a long time."

"I just hope I don't end up driving you or her nuts."

Jake cleared his throat and walked to the window. He hated where his mind was going through Heather's inadvertent mention of nuts. It wasn't even in the same context, and Heather couldn't have known, but he remembered that day—_was it only four weeks ago?_—when Constantino talked to him over the two-way radio. The bastard had the gall to express his condolences for his father's death in one sentence and demand Jericho's surrender in the next. Jake's response had been one word: Nuts. _Go to hell. _

How Jake would like to send him straight there.

Too much had happened for the slate to be wiped clean between him and Phil Constantino. The thought of the man still sitting in New Bern consumed his thoughts.

"Wow. Don't soothe my insecurities all at once," Heather teased.

"I'm sorry. I was thinking about…well, things."

"If you ever want to talk about 'things,' I am the all-time, world record listening champion. The honor came with a snazzy trophy and everything. Little bronze ears. _Very_ prestigious."

Jake chuckled, the dark cloud that had been hanging over him, lifted. "I can't believe you said that with a straight face."

"Yeah. Me either. Still the offer stands. I'll even throw in another offer. I'll try not to ramble."

He shrugged. "I kind of like it when you ramble."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Gail appeared at the top of the stairs. "Heather, come on up. Let me show you where everything is."

"Coming," Heather called back. "Thank you again, Jake." She began to walk up the stairs to Gail.

"Heather?"

Heather turned around and saw him standing at the bottom of the stairs.

"A little later, do you want to go get that burger Eric was talking about?"

Her mouth began to water at the very thought. "I do, but are you going to have time? The Jake Green I know was always running from crisis to crisis."

He shrugged. "They're in short supply these days."

"Thankfully," Gail added.

"Then that sounds tasty," Heather nodded.

Gail grasped the railing. "Oh, Jake, before I forget, when I was home for lunch, I found your to-do list on the porch. It must have fallen out of your pocket."

"My to-do list?" Jake repeated, confusion etching his features.

Gail nodded. "It looked pretty ambitious. Since when do you make to-do lists? Your brother must be rubbing off on you."

Jake didn't answer. "Where did you put it?" he asked, rubbing his chin.

"Kitchen counter," Gail replied as she turned around and started down the hall.

Heather hesitated, her eyes catching Jake's. Something wasn't right.

"Are you coming?" Gail asked, looking back at the young woman.

Heather turned to Gail, then glanced back down the stairs to see Jake disappearing around the corner, no doubt going to retrieve the list.

_Stop looking for trouble_, she chided herself.

Heather followed Gail down the hall. She'd been in the Green home once before, when Johnston had been ill with the flu. It seemed strange to be there without him. Photographs adorned the hallway, mostly family photographs, even some including April, Eric's late wife. A wedding photo of a clean-shaven Johnston with a full head of hair and a long-haired Gail was also hung outside the door where Gail stopped.

"This was Eric's old room. You'll be glad to know that I have redone it since he grew up, so no more Snoopy comforter. And his Star Wars memorabilia is safely tucked away in the attic in case of emergency."

Heather smiled. She'd always liked Gail Green and was looking forward to getting to know her better.

The two walked in the room. It was well lit, as the shades were pulled up. The room itself was pale yellow with a full size bed, a nightstand, a desk, a built-in bookshelf, and an armchair. An area rug lay upon the hardwood floor.

"I have the shades open to allow in light during the day, but at night, you'll probably want to close them for privacy. Just to give you an idea of the layout up here, Jake's room is right next door, and my room is at the end of the hall. The bathroom is across the hall. You're welcome to explore."

Heather walked to the window and looked out. The room faced the fenced in backyard. She doubted privacy would be too much of an issue. Near the edge of the yard was a large maple tree, complete with a tire swing. The tree had already begun to leaf out for the spring.

Closer to the house, she noticed several wooden stakes with string stretched between them seeming to mark a perimeter. "Are you putting in a garden?"

Gail nodded. "It'll be my first one in a couple of years. Actually, I was never much of a gardener. Gardening was always something that Johnston enjoyed. I just hope the seeds I have are still viable."

"There's one way to find out. We can start a batch of seedlings inside and then transfer them when we see that they're viable and when the threat of frost is over. Usually April 15 is the cutoff date for that." Heather paused. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound presumptuous. I tend to jump right in to the middle of things when I shouldn't."

"Heather, don't ever apologize for having ideas and being willing to implement them. I'm going to need you. After all, I know just enough about gardening to be dangerous."

"This room is lovely, Mrs. Green." Gail tilted her head, a look of warning crossing her features. "I mean, Gail," Heather corrected herself. "I cannot thank you enough for inviting me to stay."

"And I can't thank you enough for saving my son's life when you were in New Bern."

"Eric helped to keep me sane while we were there."

"And Jake. Thank you for that, as well."

"What do you mean?"

"I've not seen him smile much lately. You make my boy smile."

Heather's cheeks grew warm. The truth was she found herself smiling more frequently when she was around him, as well. She'd been back for less than a day, and already she was being lulled into her old infatuation. She was annoyed with herself more than anything else. What good would it do to harbor a crush on someone she knew wasn't interested in her, something she'd known for a long time. If they were to be staying under the same roof, she couldn't allow her emotions to go in that direction, largely because she knew where the end point would be, and it wasn't going to be in Happily-ever-after Land.

"Is this Jake and Eric?" Heather asked pointing to a framed photograph on the built-in bookshelf. In the photos were two little boys, one with dark hair and the other with lighter hair.

Gail smiled and nodded. She realized too late that she'd embarrassed Heather, and now the young woman was changing the subject. Gail's eyes traced the figures in the picture. Oh how looking at that photo took her back. "My pride and joy. Jake was always into something. I couldn't turn my back on him for a second. Eric, in contrast, was so easy to please and so quiet."

"They were beautiful children," Heather commented.

"I think so, but every mother thinks so. I remember when I had Jake, I was so proud of him. I'd go to the nursery in the hospital and look through the glass with the other mothers and visitors, and they would point to him and talk about how perfect he looked. All that was without realizing he was my baby. His skin was flawless and rosy. He had a full head of dark hair. Here was this perfect little creature and he belonged to me. Granted, I had absolutely no idea of how to take care of him."

"On the job training," Heather commented.

"You got it. No amount of research can prepare parents for the reality of taking care of a baby. And of course, Jake being Jake, it was easy to love him but so hard to tame him. He was and is just like his grandpa.

"Johnston's father, God rest his soul, was full of vinegar. Completely ornery and stubborn as the day is long. After I had Eric, he visited me in the hospital, squeezed my hand, and said, 'Well, Gail, you know what they say. Ugly in the cradle, pretty at the table.'"

Heather's mouth gaped slightly.

"He was harmless, but that day, I think I could have scratched his eyes out for saying that my baby was ugly. Eric was jaundiced, but he was still the most beautiful sight. Jake, on the other hand, was hoping for a puppy, so when Johnston and I brought home a baby brother, he wasn't exactly thrilled."

"Surely that changed pretty quickly."

"I'm sure Jake is grateful for Eric now, but it was touch-and-go there for a few years. What about your family, Heather?"

"My mom died when I was fourteen. My dad just a few years ago. I never had any siblings, though I _think _I may have some cousins living in the Topeka area. I've not seen them in years. Jericho has become my home and the people here my family." Heather spoke matter-of-factly. It was easier to deal in absolutes and strict facts than to delve too deeply into the effects those losses had on her.

Gail's mouth felt dry. The events of the last six months had been challenging on the best of days and devastating on the worst. Through it all, she'd had the support of those she loved most, her husband and her two sons. This young woman who stood next to her had no built-in support system. "I'm glad you feel that way because the bathroom across the hall is a family bathroom. You'll be sharing it with Jake. The good news is that we do have running water again. The bad news is that it's hit and miss with the hot water. The heater is acting up."

Heather perked up. "I could look at it for you. I'm pretty good with machinery, and I'd really like to be useful."

Gail squeezed Heather's shoulder. "Relax. Get used to being back in town. See the people you care about. There will be plenty of time to work." Gail looked at the small bag Heather carried. "Do you have any other bags?"

"No, I have a few things in my classroom at the elementary school, along with a few things at Ted's trailer."

"Ted?"

"Ted Lewis. A friend of mine from New Bern. We grew up together."

Gail nodded. "We'll have to see about getting you some essentials. The road between here and New Bern isn't exactly well-traveled these days."

Heather sat on the edge of the bed. "What about telephones? Ted probably has no idea that I'm alive."

"Telephones are haphazard. They seem to work well locally. It's the calling out of Jericho that is the problem. So this Ted, is he someone special to you?" Gail asked sitting next to Heather.

Heather knew what Gail Green was asking. Ted was special to her, but not in the way Jake's mother wondered. "I never had a brother, but he's the closest thing I have to one. Only, I'd like to think that my brother would be less messy." Gail smiled. "So why do you think it's difficult to get a line out of Jericho? Obviously, the military is able to get calls through. When I was with Major Beck earlier today, one of his men came in and announced he had a call from Colonel Hoffman, and I _know_ Colonel Hoffman wasn't local."

Gail shrugged. "Another case of mixed priorities. The military and Jennings and Rall want for nothing. Some progress is made each day, though, so you're welcome to try to call Ted. Who knows? You might get through."

Heather glanced at the phone on the nightstand next to the bed. "Rule #9: Hope for the best. Prepare for the worst." She picked up the receiver, heard a dial tone, and dialed Ted's number. She was filled with anticipation when she heard ringing, but a feminine mechanical voice on the other end came on the line. _"We're sorry. We're unable to complete your call as dialed. Please hang up and try it again."_

Gail gave Heather a sympathetic look seeing the appearance of unease on the younger woman's face. "I'm sorry. We'll think of another way to get in touch with Ted."

Heather nodded. She didn't have the heart to tell Gail that her concern over the telephone wasn't just about her inability to reach an old friend. No, it went far beyond that.

Someone was controlling the flow of information in and out of Jericho.

* * *

"…_So what do you think would've happened? Do you think Jack, Kate, and the others—make that lowercase others—would have ever made it off that island?" Jimmy's voice sounded hopeful._

_Bill scoffed. "Come on. If they made it off the island, they wouldn't have had a show anymore."_

Gray Anderson was accustomed to listening to snippets of conversations as he walked through the sheriff's office. Lately, people rarely discussed anything significant, but in the past, he had found it expedient to eavesdrop from time to time. He hoped that skill would come in handy once again as he entered the military offices.

He stood for a few minutes near the intra-office mailbox, listening to no avail. The office personnel, all either enlisted or commissioned officers, busied themselves, none speaking as loudly as the two deputies Gray had known for most his life.

Through the glass walls, Gray could see Major Beck was in his office, along with two soldiers.

He hesitated. Eric had been so certain that there was more going on than what Beck was saying, but honestly, Gray wondered if he really wanted to know. Things were calm, getting back on track. Did he really want to rock the boat now?

Too late. Beck spotted him and motioned for him to enter the office. There was no turning around.

"What can I do for you, Mayor?"

Gray Anderson stood taller than the other men in the room, but seeing their steely gazes, he felt diminutive. "I noticed some new arrivals today, along with Ms. Lisinski."

Beck looked at Gray, waiting for him to get to the point.

"I was wondering why they're here. Are they replacing soldiers that are being redeployed?"

"No." Beck offered no further information.

Gray shuffled his feet. "Look, I've been a good sport about all of this. I've been your biggest supporter when, frankly, some folks like Jake Green have wanted to run you out of town. But how do I explain this to my constituents when I don't even understand it myself?"

Beck motioned to the soldiers. "Hamilton, Markowitz, you are dismissed. Close the door on your way out. Mayor Anderson, have a seat. We have a few things to discuss."

Gray swallowed hard. _Damn_.

Beck folded his hands and looked at the man who hesitantly sat across from him. "What I'm about to tell you is divulged only on a need-to-know basis."

"I understand," Gray replied, dread filling him.

"The Army is not here solely for the purpose of securing Jericho."

Gray struggled to find his voice. "Then why are you here?"

"We received intel that a terrorist may be in the area."

"You can't be serious. A terrorist?" Gray asked in disbelief. "What's left to terrorize us with? We've already stared at the mouth of Hell."

"You're aware that New York was spared a blast, largely through the diligence of its citizens. The attacks on 9-11 were a tragedy, but they did compel people to be more aware of their surroundings and any suspicious behavior. Those who were caught with the nuclear device were American born and carrying authentic looking FBI badges."

"We'd heard by way of radio," Gray supplied. "We became so paranoid, Jake Green and Jimmy went to see Robert Hawkins."

"Who?" Beck questioned.

"Ex-cop from St. Louis. FBI agent. His family moved here shortly before the attacks."

Beck scribbled something onto a pad of paper before he continued, "Through persuasive tactics, the terrorists revealed information that leads us to believe that another city was targeted, though the attack was not carried out."

"Wait a minute. By 'targeted,' do you mean there's another bomb out there?"

"Possibly. That's what we're trying to determine."

"What makes you think Jericho has anything to do with it?"

Beck's eyebrows lifted. "That's classified, but what I can tell you is that we're getting close to finding another perpetrator, and I won't rest until we do."

* * *

The temperature outside had dropped several degrees as the sun slowly made its descent. Jake figured he had another hour at the most of daylight. Even without the benefit of daylight, he knew his way around those fifty-plus acres of his family's ranch, everything from the open pasture and creek to the small grove of trees, including a few fruit trees that were beginning to bud.

The ranch had been one of his favorite places as a boy. He and his father used to spend hours in the tree stand waiting for deer, usually at the crack of dawn. The way Jake figured it, there were two things worth getting up for in the morning: a beautiful woman or deer hunting.

While the ranch still had the basic attributes of a working cattle farm, his father had long ago sold the cattle to auction, keeping only a few horses in the red barn. Jake had already tended to the horses that morning and hadn't anticipated returning until the next day. Of course, that all changed once he saw the to-do list.

Jake buried his hand in his jeans pocket, pulling out the crumpled list. Its block letters provided a modicum of anonymity, but Jake suspected he already knew the source.

TO DO:  
CLEAN HORSE STALLS  
REFILL TROUGH

He kept his eyes peeled for anything amiss as he unlatched the barn door. The familiar scent of horse flesh greeted his nostrils as his eyes adjusted to the difference in light. He pulled a small bag of peppermints from the shelf on the wall, obtaining one for each horse. The four animals, two colts, a filly, and a mare, moved closer to the edge of the stall, approaching Jake. He dropped a mint in each of the horses' buckets, a habit he picked up from his father.

Johnston Green preached to Jake about a lot of things, which he didn't fully appreciate at the time; however, the older Jake got, the more value he saw in each lesson. His dad always insisted that he not feed the horses treats that came from his pocket or from his hands. Of course, Jake being Jake, he tried his luck at defying his father's instructions. The first and only time Jake didn't listen, he'd been nipped, the result of which required seven stitches in his hand and kept him from pitching in that weekend's baseball tournament.

Jake's eyes scoured the stalls. What was he looking for? Something had to be out of place, but everything looked as he had left it, from the water and feed buckets, to the horses themselves who seemed calm.

CLEAN HORSE STALLS

There was no use analyzing it all day. He walked to the pitchfork and picked it up. As he did, he heard a light clang, the sound of metal on metal. He knelt, examining the area around the pitchfork further.

A key! It must have been around one of the prongs on the pitchfork.

Jake lifted the object, holding it up to one of the large windows. It didn't look special. It was a Quickset key, undoubtedly a house key. What was this about?

Jake gave one last look around the barn before heading outside the back door. With the daylight fading, he found himself in the enclosed pasture. The water trough sat perpendicular to the barn. Once again, he noticed nothing out of the ordinary. The trough was still quite full, as it had rained steadily most of the day before.

REFILL TROUGH

He picked up the aluminum bucket they used to carry water from the creek. When he did, he noticed the folded paper.

Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, Jake read the block letters, identical to those on the to-do list. 5:00 A.M. POOL GUY'S HOUSE.

_Hawkins._

It had been nearly four weeks since Jake had seen the covert operative. When the military rolled in, Hawkins rolled out. Why would he come back? Why risk everything, unless the consequences outweighed the risks?

Jake sucked in a breath. Well, he guessed he had another reason to get up early. Too bad it didn't involve a beautiful woman or deer hunting.

_To Be Continued..._


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: "Fight or Flight"**

When Jake returned home from the ranch, he was met with a quizzical look from his mother. They typically informed one another when they were leaving, mostly as a precautionary measure, but she'd been surprised to find him gone after returning from taking Heather upstairs.

There was no sense in explaining about the to-do list, that it was Robert Hawkins's way of secretive communication. Nor would he tell her about his meeting with Hawkins in the morning. That would only lead to more questions that Jake couldn't answer for his mother, for her own safety and, perhaps, for his own sanity. He couldn't function as well if he knew his mother was worried or in danger.

"Took care of a few things at the ranch," he explained briefly. "I'm going to wash up."

He took the steps two at a time, not waiting for her response, and met Heather in the hallway, coming from her room. His eyes widened when he saw her. Her hair was damp, her cheeks rosy, probably from the cold shower. What was most evident about her though was the too large t-shirt she wore, one he recognized as his own. The cotton shirt was thin, providing a generous view of the outline of her slender curves.

"Oh, I didn't realize you were back." She tugged at the bottom of the t-shirt, trying to make it cover more skin.

"I remembered some things I needed to do at the ranch," he replied vaguely. She tilted her head as he spoke, and Jake noted the slight narrowing of her eyes, how her mind looked to be racing. Did she know he was covering?

"Right. Your to-do list." She knew he was hiding something but let it drop. If he wanted to tell her, he would. "I hope you don't mind." She looked down at the t-shirt she wore. "Your mom got it for me to wear so I could wash my clothes."

"No, I don't mind. It looks better on you anyway." The words tumbled out before Jake could stop them. _Rein it in, Green. _"I'm just going to take a quick shower." He began to duck in the bathroom, but Heather moved to stop him.

"Wait, I just need—"

Jake stepped in the bathroom and then stepped back out to the doorway, smiling.

Heather brushed past him and went into the bathroom. "I'm really sorry about that," she muttered as she pulled her delicates off the shower rod where they had been drying.

"Believe it or not, I've seen lingerie before," he teased.

"I'm sure you have." Her words were clipped as she hid her delicates behind her back. Of course she knew he'd seen lingerie before. He was a man of the world. Still, the thought that Jake had seen _her_ lingerie made her groan inwardly. Sometimes she felt like such a child in his presence.

Heather's embarrassment and bristling amused Jake, even though he knew it probably shouldn't. There was just something about watching the color rise in her cheeks, seeing the brightness in her eyes. "I meant I've done laundry before. I do have a mother, and I do help around the house."

"You do chores around the house?"

He stretched his arm out, leaning against the door facing. "Don't sound so surprised."

It had never occurred to Heather that Jake knew how to do laundry, or really any other type of housework. He seemed too much the brooding bad boy. "I just thought…"

"Thought what?"

_Well, with you always off saving everybody all the time chores wouldn't exactly be a priority. _"Have a nice shower, Jake."

"It'll be a cold one," he murmured as she turned and walked back into her room, though he noted she still shuffled her lingerie around to where he couldn't see it. He fought down the urge to laugh as he went into the bathroom.

* * *

Heather Lisinski was convinced she'd fallen in love as she chewed on her hamburger, savoring its flavor. Everything about it was perfect, from its fresh lettuce to the slightly smoky taste of the beef. Even the bun. Who'd have thought hamburger buns could be so delectable? The condiments only added to the burger's perfection. The complement of onion rings and a glass of tea—_with actual ice!_—rounded out the meal.

Beef was plentiful these days, quite the change from the food situation a few months ago. Many of the patrons at Bailey's Tavern were having burgers, including Jake, Gail, and Eric who sat in the corner booth with Heather. The two ladies were sandwiched between the two men.

"So is it everything you'd hoped it would be?" Eric asked just as Heather took another bite. "Sorry about that."

Heather chewed quickly and swallowed before answering. "Everything and more. I'd almost forgotten how burgers taste. I've really missed this."

"Didn't they feed you at Camp Hayward?" Jake asked.

"Nothing like canned beans and MREs. Yum, yum."

"I'm still holding out for corned beef and sour kraut," Gail sighed, her mouth watering slightly at the thought. "It wasn't much of a St. Patty's Day this year without it."

Heather wrinkled her nose. She never could get past the smell of sour kraut to appreciate its finer virtues. "I've never developed a taste for sour kraut. Sorry."

"You're not missing anything," Jake replied with a shudder.

Gail playfully pointed a finger at Jake. "I don't know whose son you are because I can't believe that a child of mine wouldn't love sour kraut. Besides, it's brain food."

"That explains Jake," Eric piped in, an impish grin crossing his bearded face.

"Oh, that's rich, Eric," Jake replied as he stretched his arms on the back of the booth. "This coming from the man who once stuck a paperclip in an electrical outlet to see what would happen?"

Gail looked to her younger son. "You did _what_?"

"I was eight! Besides," Eric added as he gestured to his brother, "_he_ dared me."

"And I thought all the things I already knew that you two did were enough to keep me up at night," Gail said with a groan.

Jake lifted an eyebrow. "And you don't even know the half of it."

Heather stifled a giggle. She couldn't decide if Jake was trying to get a rise out of his mother or to merely brag. Either way, the image of little Jake coaxing little Eric to the dark side was comical to her. Of course, if it had been one of her third graders that tried that stunt…

Gail turned to Heather. "Would you listen to them? This is what you have to look forward to someday. Finding out more than you ever wanted to know about your children only after they're too old to ground."

"Well, Gail, I'll tell you what my dad always told me. He'd say, 'I'm the parent. You're the child. I don't care if you're seventy years old, as long as you live under my roof, you're never going to be too old for me to ground.'"

"Gee, thanks for the backup," Jake chuckled as he lightly patted Heather's shoulder.

"I think I would have liked your dad," Gail replied with a smile. "He sounds like he was a _brilliant_ man."

Heather nodded. "He was pretty sharp."

Jake looked to Heather, suddenly aware of how little he actually knew about her life outside of the various events they had experienced with one another. Why in all the time he'd known her didn't he realize she'd lost a parent? His gaze went to his brother, who seemed unsurprised by this information.

_Of course_, Jake realized. _Eric knew_.

Eric knew far more about Heather Lisinski than he did. Logically it shouldn't have bothered Jake, but it did.

"Must run in the family," Eric commented. "So, Mom, how long is Jake grounded?"

"Eric, you're a lawyer. Isn't there a statute of limitations on this type of thing?" Heather asked before taking a sip of her tea.

Jake shot Eric a victorious look. "The backup has arrived. Thank you."

"Whose side are you on?" Eric scolded Heather playfully.

"Not yours," Jake said with a grin as he slid out of the booth. "I'm going to get another drink. Does anybody want something?"

"Mary's still serving some pretty toxic stuff, so I think I'll pass on a second," Eric replied.

"Mom?" Jake asked.

"No," Gail shook her head. "I'll be heading home soon."

Jake looked to Heather who shook her head. "You sure?" he asked.

"I'm _still _feeling that hangover from the last time I drank anything stronger than light beer." She paused. "And that was four months ago."

"We're going to have to work on that," Jake replied with a crooked smile.

Heather's eyes followed Jake as he walked to the bar and spoke with Mary Bailey, and she realized she was staring. She turned back to her companions, hoping they'd not noticed. "So how does money work nowadays? Are we capitalists? Socialists? Barterers?" She took a bite of an onion ring.

"The new federal government is working on establishing a national currency. In the meantime, trade is alive and well in the form of bartering, whether it's one's goods or one's services."

Heather looked down at her plate of food. "Looks like I owe someone a favor."

"Heather, I think you've more than earned your supper," Gail stated.

* * *

When Emily Sullivan stepped foot in Bailey's Tavern, she was beginning to feel more than a little frustrated. Guilt had been eating away at her for the better part of the day, and thus far, she'd been unable to alleviate it.

It was foolish, she conceded, for her to be so reluctant to see Heather. Yet once she'd finally talked herself into returning to city hall and had actually entered the building, it had been for naught. Heather had already left. Emily checked the school building, the church, and still there was no sign of her friend.

To top it all off, she'd gone to Jake's house and the place was empty.

_I can't find anyone_, she groaned inwardly.

A couple of soldiers at a table lifted their glasses to her, and she waved back. She supposed she should be flattered. It was nice to be appreciated, after all, but the only person whose appreciation she wanted was mysteriously…

_At the bar_.

Emily smiled upon seeing Jake. The evening was definitely improving. Like a moth to a flame, she was drawn to him. As she began walking up to him, he turned his head sensing her approach. Emily hugged him from behind, running her hands up his chest.

"Hey there, Stranger," she said, nuzzling his neck.

* * *

Heather was taking a sip of her tea when she glanced back at the bar and saw her best friend approach Jake, moving close to him, touching him with a sense of intimacy. Her sip resonated like a gulp.

Her eyes became so focused on Jake and Emily that she'd not seen Eric drop his napkin or lean back in the booth with a look of dismay on his face. Nor had she noticed the realization that came over Gail Green. Yes, Heather Lisinski had the ability to become doggedly focused. Poker, however, never was her strong suit.

* * *

Jake gently pushed Emily back, though not before noting the look of hurt in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said calmly. _Strange_. How many times had he said those two words to Emily in his lifetime? More times that he could count and more times than any man should be allowed to say to a woman and still be allowed to remain in her life. Yet here she was and here he was. "Heather's sitting over there, and I just don't think we should…"

Emily nodded. "I understand completely." She looked around the tavern and finally spotted her old friend who was seated in a booth with Gail and Eric Green. Emily looked back to Jake, realizing she'd stumbled into a family outing, one to which she had not been invited. "I should go say hi," she said quietly.

* * *

Heather slid out of the booth, and Eric watched, grimacing. It was evident from the look on her face just a moment earlier that Jake never did get around to having that talk with Heather about Emily.

But now Eric was stunned to see Heather smiling brightly as she and Emily embraced.

For as long as he lived, he would never understand women.

* * *

"Heather, when Jake told me you made it, I couldn't believe it," Emily said as she pulled away from her friend, though she held on to one of Heather's hands. "You really had me scared."

Heather shrugged. "I had myself scared there for awhile."

"Where have you been?" Emily asked.

"Getting the grand tour of northern Kansas and southern Nebraska," Heather replied lightly.

"I'm serious," Emily insisted. "Where have you been?"

"Camp Liberty and then Camp Hayward for the last month. And before that in New Bern and surrounding areas." Not this again. Heather knew the questions were inevitable, but there were too many things she still didn't want to talk about, not even with Emily. So she deflected before her friend could ask anything else. "You'll be pleased to know that I finally have a criminal record."

Emily laughed. In the past, they'd often joked about how their backgrounds were so incredibly dissimilar. In her youth, Emily had amassed quite a collection of colorful experiences under her belt, from convictions on petty theft to trespassing. Heather, in contrast, had always played it safe and likely would have tried to reform her friend had she known Emily Sullivan back then. The two had gotten a plethora of laughter mileage from the fact that Emily held the distinction of being the only teacher at Jericho High School who had a criminal background. Years ago, when Emily interviewed for her teaching position, it hadn't been funny as she tried to convince administrators to give her a chance, that she wasn't the same irresponsible teenager. No, it hadn't been ideal, but looking back, she had a fondness for those Bonnie and Clyde days with Jake.

"You badass!"

Heather shrugged. "Yeah, well, you did tell me I needed to get out more, so…"

Jake approached the two friends carrying one of Mary's concoctions for himself and a water for Emily. "You want to come sit with us?" Jake asked Emily.

Emily hesitated. If they'd wanted her with them, wouldn't she have been invited to begin with? "I don't want to crowd your family."

"Don't be silly," Heather insisted. "There's plenty of room. Besides, it'll give us a chance to catch up. I've missed you, Em."

She looked over Emily's shoulder at Jake, who looked incredibly tense, like a sentry on high alert. Part of her wanted to broach the topic of what she'd just discovered, but what was there to say?

_It might've been nice of you to mention this earlier._

_This thing with you and Emily, it's none of my business. _

_You'll have to forgive me. Right now, I just really have a bad case of the stupids._

_I want you to finally be happy._

Emily squeezed Heather's hand. The three walked back to the booth just as Eric and Gail were getting up.

"Leaving so soon?" Heather asked.

"I have an early shift at the clinic," Gail explained.

"Is Kenchy turning out to be a slave driver?" Emily asked. Her roommate was typically gregarious only if he'd been drinking—and that wasn't a particularly good move for a physician while on duty.

"Not so much," Gail replied. "Now Jessica, on the other hand…"

"I'm going to walk Mom home, but I'll be back a little later." Eric sought Heather's eyes, and when they met, she gave him a little smile and nodded.

_I'm fine_, she seemed to say to him.

Heather slid back into the booth, followed by Emily and Jake. She looked at her food, though her appetite had, for the most part, waned.

"Heather, Jake, I'll see you at home," Gail said. "Emily, it's always good to see you."

Emily looked to Heather and then to Jake as Gail and Eric walked away. "Wow. I had no idea that you have a house guest." Gone was the cheer she'd exhibited moments earlier. Her tone was just short of a recrimination.

"This day's been full of surprises," Heather chirped in, her face passive and her voice cheerful. She finally made it back to Jericho, but she had no home. Jake Green was back in her life, but he was involved with her best friend. How deliciously ironic it all had been.

Heather wondered if ironies, like bad things, happened in threes. If so, she was due for another ironic moment any time now…

Emily's blue eyes met Heather's. She knew Heather Lisinski far too well. Heather was covering, compensating. It wasn't lost on Emily, nor was the double meaning in her seemingly innocent words. In Emily's way of thinking, Heather may as well have come out and said, _Didn't take you long to run back to Jake after Roger left, did it?_

"So how did you come to be a houseguest with the Greens?" Emily tried to maintain a conversational tone, but failed to keep the edge off her words.

"You didn't know about my apartment?" Heather asked, fiddling with the corner of her cloth napkin.

"Since you've been gone, I don't get to that side of town as much as I used to. It's not exactly near the Pines. So did you have a flood or something? Or maybe an apartment crasher?"

"No, I don't have an _apartment_ anymore," Heather explained.

Jake sighed. "The building was destroyed in the mortar attacks."

"How awful! I'm sorry, Heather." She turned to Jake. "You should have had her come to me."

Jake looked at Emily. "You have a full house; I don't. It was the best thing to do."

"Alright then. I'll trade you Kenchy for Heather," Emily offered as she took Jake's hand and intertwined her fingers with his. She flashed him a brilliant smile.

Heather studied her friend; she knew Emily Sullivan too well. Behind that smile, Emily was camouflaging her reaction, but just barely. Her tone would have suggested she was joking, but Heather knew she wasn't. Emily was unhappy about Heather staying with the Greens, and she was working to remedy the situation to make it more to her liking.

"That hardly seems like a fair trade," Jake replied pointedly.

Heather stiffened. She wasn't the only one who knew Emily well. Of course Jake knew what Emily was getting at, and from the looks of it, Jake wasn't happy with her suggestion. Heather was quite certain it wasn't the idea of Kenchy that was offensive, more the idea that Emily was trying to control the situation.

In nature, there were two prominent reactions to dangerous situations, according to naturalists. Some animals chose to stay and fight; others chose flight, to run away. In observing what was certainly the beginning of an unpleasant showdown, Heather made a choice.

"Okay, that toxic substance Mary makes is starting to look pretty darn good right now, so I'm just going to go over there," Heather said pointing at the bar as she slid around the booth and out the other side.

"Heather, wait!" Emily called after her.

Heather paused, turned around, and clasped her hands nervously. "You two need to work out…whatever…without an audience."

* * *

"You look like you could use something stiff," Mary Bailey said with a smile when she saw Heather Lisinski approach the bar and slide onto a stool. Knowing that the young woman who sat before her was instrumental in Eric's return, gratitude coursed through her. Mary couldn't comprehend what her life would be like if Eric hadn't made it back from New Bern alive. "And seeing as how you're one of my absolute favorite people, I think I can get my hands on something extra special."

"Do you remember what happened last time I was here?" It had seemed a lifetime ago. The day that would have been Emily's wedding to Roger came, but Roger was nowhere in sight. Heather planned a slew of activities to keep up her friend's spirits, but they had to move to phase two early when Ravenwood appeared outside of town. Phase two consisted of drinking themselves into oblivion.

A lifetime ago. And yet not long ago.

What happened to Roger? Emily had been so sad about him, worried that he wouldn't make it back safely, but he had made it back. Why was he gone? Was he okay? How had Emily dealt with it?

_Stupid girl, you know how she dealt with it. _

Heather's eyes traveled to the ceiling of the tavern as she forced down the emotions welling inside her. Jake tried to tell her earlier that things had changed. Why didn't he just come out and say it? Was he afraid she would judge them? Emily and Jake had been circling each other for over twenty years, hadn't they? When Heather really thought about it, contrary to what she'd told Emily, she wasn't surprised they found their way back to one another. Not in the least.

Mary poured a drink and set it in front of Heather. "You proved what I've always known. There are two types of people. Those who get mean when they get drunk and those who get silly."

"Where do those who get sick fit in?" Heather asked before downing the shot. "You may be wiping me off the floor in the morning."

"Hang in there," Mary smiled before turning to tend to other customers.

"Already bein' driven to the bottle, Dorothy? I thought you'd be celebratin' with Aunt Em and Uncle Henry. Not drownin' your sorrows." Lieutenant Jacob Hamilton slid onto the stool next to Heather.

Heather looked at her newfound companion, not expecting to see him before her next debriefing with Major Beck, if at all. For a moment, she thought perhaps he'd been sent to collect her on behalf of Beck, but Lieutenant Hamilton appeared far too relaxed to be on a mission.

"You know that saying about how you can never go home again? They were right."

"Who are 'they,' anyway?"

"You know, the notorious 'they. ' The overused 'they.' The 'they' whose name gets invoked whenever people can't remember who 'they' are."

Lieutenant Hamilton squinted. "Ms. Lisinski, you just gave me a headache."

"Yeah, I'm feeling that one, too," Heather laughed despite the events of the day. It was easy to be around Lieutenant Hamilton.

"What can I get for you?" Mary asked the young sandy-haired lieutenant.

He leaned forward slightly, as though the drink order was the most important conversation he'd ever had. "You don't happen to have sweet tea, do you?"

Mary shook her head. "I've got tea. You can add sugar if you need it."

"I'll take it." Mary poured him a glass of tea, and he began to doctor it with the sugar dispenser. He looked to Heather. "You know, there's nothin' quite like sweet tea, though it does taste best if the sugar is added right after the tea is brewed. It's a Southern delicacy." He turned around on the stool and leaned his back against the bar.

Heather glanced around the room. A number of the regulars were there, laughing with friends, playing pool, enjoying dances. However, the military population more than equaled the number of natives in Bailey's. "I think you're the first soldier I've seen drink tea here tonight. Everyone else seems to be going for Mary's home brew."

"Aww, I don't really go for the hard stuff. Dulls the senses. Besides, my mama would whoop my tail if she saw me drinkin' alcohol."

"Sometimes it's just fine for the senses to be dulled," Heather mumbled. She had to make a concerted effort not to look back at Jake and Emily. The whole situation made her feel utterly ridiculous. For Jake to treat her with kid gloves irked her when a forthright quick mention would have sufficed.

"Have to say, Ms. Lisinski, I never figured you for the hard stuff. You seem more like…"

"Light beer?" Heather finished as Mary refilled her glass. "I get that a lot."

"But they'd be wrong, just like I was. There's more to you than anyone else sees." He took a swig of his tea and surveyed his surroundings. "So, is that Jake over there?"

"Mmhmmm."

Hamilton scratched his chin. "He looks different, like he's clean or somethin'."

If Heather had liquid in her mouth, she probably would have spewed it. "Wow. What do I say to that? Jake doesn't have a problem with personal hygiene. Trust me." Heather did have to admit the fact that he looked different tonight; he had shaved and his hair was out of his face, which took years off his appearance.

"You here with him?"

"Sort of."

Hamilton leaned closer to her and whispered conspiratively, "Then why aren't you over there with him? And who's the blonde?"

"My best friend."

"Ouch." He shook his head. "Well, like I told you earlier, you can do better."

Heather sighed. So they were back to that, were they? "I think you're either flirting with me or trying to make me angry."

"Choose one," he grinned and winked.

"You're _definitely_ flirting with me."

His hazel eyes twinkled. "How'd you guess?"

Heather licked her lips and tilted her head. "Does this conversation fall under 'inappropriate' in any way?"

He chuckled. He'd been chided as though he was one of her third graders, but for the life of him, he didn't care. "Why would it? I'm not on the clock, and you're not my assignment right now. At least, not my official assignment. Now I _might _call you my personal assignment, if you'd allow me to be so bold."

"Tell me about your mama," Heather replied.

He raised his eyebrows. "That's a definite mood killer, but I get your point. But just so you get my point, I like a challenge, and I like you, Dorothy."

"You've not known me long enough to _know_ whether you like me," Heather shot back.

"That's where you're wrong. It only takes one bite of an apple to tell whether it's rotten or not."

"Lieutenant Hamilton—"

"Just Hamilton will be fine. I don't think I want you callin' me Lieutenant Hamilton. Too formal. And only my mama calls me Jacob."

"Hamilton," Heather began, "you surmised correctly that I am trouble, and you don't even know the other half of the story yet. You may think I'm a fresh apple," she paused. "Okay, that sounded really weird out loud. I can add that to the list of things I never thought I'd say. Anyway, you may think that if you sweet talk me enough, you'll get a booty call for your trouble. The only thing you're going to get is disappointed."

He sucked in a breath. "Yikes. You think this whole conversation is just to get invited into your bed? And here I thought I was just workin' up to askin' you for a dance."

Heather's cheeks reddened. "Oh. Oops."

Hamilton took the glass from Heather's hand and set it on the bar. "I'm cuttin' off your supply startin' right now. A dance with me will do far more for you than that witch brew." He stood and extended his hand.

Heather stared at it for a few seconds before placing her hand in his and allowing herself to be led to the small dance floor.

* * *

Jake turned back to Emily and shook his head. "What the hell was that?"

"What was what?" Emily asked innocently. "Oh, you mean you getting hostile once again and scaring away my friend?"

"If I was hostile, it was because you were trying to make Heather feel uncomfortable for accepting an invitation to stay with my mother and me. What were you thinking? Offering to trade her for someone else is insulting, Emily! Heather is settled. She is fine with the living arrangements and seems to be fine with us being a couple. Why are you making such a big deal about it?"

"I _wasn't_ making a big deal about it. I was _teasing_."

Jake ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth. "Don't. Don't even try that. I've known you all my life, Emily Prowse." Anger flared in her eyes. She'd done everything in her power to disassociate herself from her father; taking on her mother's maiden name as her own was only one part of that undertaking. "Emily _Sullivan_," he corrected. "It bothered you that Heather was here tonight with my family, and you're bothered that she's staying at our house."

Emily shifted in her seat and stared down at her hands. "Jake, I know the two of you…_liked_…each other."

Jake looked away from Emily, catching sight of Heather at the bar with the young lieutenant who escorted her to Jericho. Heather looked like she was having a far better time than Jake at the moment. A small, dimpled smile was evident on her face, the conversation clearly more personal than military business would have necessitated or allowed.

He turned back to Emily, gently lifted her chin, and looked her straight in the eye. "Is that what this is about? Yes, I liked Heather. I still do. She's a nice person, she's smart, and she's fun to be around, but nothing happened. We kissed once, long before you were even giving me the time of day again."

"And if Heather hadn't gone to New Bern? Would that have been the end of it? Would you be here with me?"

Jake didn't allow himself to go in the direction Emily wanted him to go. "She _did_ go to New Bern, and we said our goodbyes."

"It's hard to get over you, Jake," she said quietly. "Remember—I know."

Jake took a deep breath and leaned back in the booth. Here they were again. New song, same dance.

This was what it always came down to with them.

The past crept in with Emily when she walked into the tavern that night, just as it always followed her, always followed him, no matter how much they both tried to put it behind them, no matter how they tried to ignore it. There it was, sharpening its claws, readying itself for another battle. As always, they obliged.

Jake cared deeply about Emily; truthfully, he'd never stopped. Couldn't she see it? That was never a doubt in his mind, never an issue. What Jake did doubt, though, was whether that would be enough to sustain them. He couldn't undo what was done, and she was never going to let him forget that fact.

"Do you trust Heather?" he finally asked.

Emily bristled. "Of course I do! What kind of question is that?"

"Then that must mean you don't trust me," he pointed out.

Emily bit nervously on her lip. Was this the time? Was this the place? "Two weeks ago I told you that I want to be with you, Jake. Not just these moments you can steal away for me, but I want to share my life with you, and I want you to share yours with me. I want us under the same roof. Do you realize we're always going in different directions? I want you to be the last person I see at night and the first person I see in the morning. I want you to make that commitment to me. I need to know you're not going to run out on me when things become too difficult, the way you did more than five years ago. I need stability."

_No, she never let him forget._

Jake chose his words carefully. "We've been back together for a month. There will be time for whatever's going to develop to develop naturally."

"Time? We had our first kiss over twenty years ago. Do you remember that? We were on our sixth grade class field trip—"

"At the history museum," Jake finished, his expression softening. "I'd never been so scared or so exhilarated in my life."

"Me either. And that was over half a lifetime ago. You were my first on so many things, Jake. My first kiss. My first lover. My first partner in crime. My first marriage proposal. My first heartbreak. We aren't kids anymore. Haven't we wasted enough time?"

"This matter with Constantino has to be settled. You're asking me to make a lifetime commitment when I can't see past what happened four weeks ago." And then there was the other matter. Jake didn't know what he would be facing the next morning when he met with Hawkins. How could he commit to Emily in the way she wanted and deserved when he couldn't map out the next twenty-four hours, let alone the rest of his life?

"Yeah, Jake. I am." She rested her hand on his thigh. "I am asking a lot of things from you. _That _i_s _trust. I am asking you to come home with me tonight, to make love to me. _That_ is trusting you with my body. I am asking you to make a life with me. _That_ is trusting you with my heart. I am asking you not to disappoint me again. _That_ is trusting you with my soul."

The line was drawn.

Jake cupped Emily's face with his hand. "And I'm asking you to trust _me _unconditionally."

Emily leaned in and brushed her lips against Jake's. "Unconditionally? There's no such thing." She said quietly as she pulled away from him. Their eyes fixed on one another for a few seconds before she slid around the other side of the booth. "Let me know when you're ready to do something other than run on a hamster wheel."

_(to be continued...)_


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **The title of this chapter is also the title of a Garbage song. The lyrics used within the text are not my words. Credit goes to Shirley Manson. You can see the video for this song on YouTube, but alas I'm not allowed to leave the link (it keeps getting blocked from my document). If you want the link, PM me, and I'll send it your way.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: "You Look So Fine"**

As Lieutenant Hamilton led Heather to the small dance floor, she began to have second thoughts. She could count on one hand the number of times she had danced with someone. Growing up as a preacher's kid, the opportunities hadn't exactly abounded for dancing. Coupled with the general awkwardness she felt as a youngster, Heather had to admit to her lack of experience. "I should warn you…"

"Nope, no warnings, Dorothy. Let me discover for myself," he replied.

"Okaaay," Heather replied as she stood before him uncertain where she was supposed to put her hands, let alone how she was supposed to move her feet or her body. Hamilton sensed her nervousness and gently clasped her hands before moving them up and placing them on his shoulders. His hands then moved to her waist and rested there.

It felt strange to be close to this man she barely knew. Strange, but not entirely unpleasant. His broad shoulders felt strong under her hands, and she had to admit that he was attractive, in a boyish way. He was smiling again, a smile that reached his hazel eyes. Hamilton guided her in the dance, and their bodies fell into a rhythm, though he maintained a respectful distance.

"You make a fellow glad to be here."

"Don't you miss being at home?" Heather asked. She remembered her desperation to return to Jericho despite the fact she had no family there. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like for those with families to be separated from them.

He nodded. "You bet I do, but if I can't be there, I might as well be here. I've spent most of my adult life away from home. I did the college thing. UT Chattanooga. ROTC while I was there. Then I came in to the Army full time, and I've not looked back since."

"How did you know the military was what you wanted to do?"

"How did you know you wanted to be a teacher? It was a callin'. So, bein' back here, is it what you expected?"

Heather lowered her head, looking at their feet. Hamilton gently placed his thumb under her chin and lifted it so their eyes met. "No peekin' down there. Don't worry. Just dance."

Hamilton spoke with such earnestness, Heather's self-consciousness melted away. "I'm relieved to be back, to see the people I care about."

"And to be back at your house… apartment…shoe," he said, searching for an appropriate description of her abode.

Heather exhaled loudly. "That's an interesting story in itself. I had an apartment."

"Had? Landlord give it away?" he asked.

"More like the New Bern mortars blew it away. I guess I should've done a better job sabotaging that factory."

She spoke in such a tongue-in-cheek manner, Hamilton did a double-take. Was she for real?

"No kiddin'?"

"No kidding."

"So what about all your things?"

"Most of what I had is gone. I'm okay if I don't think about it too much. Being away from here has helped in that sense, I suppose. I was cut off a long time ago."

He frowned. "Do you have what you need? Do you have a place to stay?"

"I'm still in the process of getting everything I need, but I did have a few essentials in my truck. And I did find a place to stay. I'm staying with Jake and Gail Green."

"Oh, Jake again," he said knowingly.

"Jake again."

"You know, I get the feeling that the leggy blonde isn't too thrilled about it."

"Why do you say that? Surely you couldn't hear what they were saying."

"No, but I am fluent in body language. When we were sittin' at the bar, I admit that I was checkin' out the competition."

Heather shook her head vehemently. "Trust me. Emily and I are _not_ in competition. She's my friend, and I would never…"

Hamilton laughed. "I meant _my _competition."

"Oh."

"So she looked pretty upset with Jake, and he looked distant from her."

"Oh, don't tell me. I don't want to know."

Hamilton leaned down and whispered in her ear one word. "Liar."

Heather felt her face grow warm. She desperately needed for the conversation to move in a new direction. What good would it do her to know that Jake and Emily were arguing? Jake was never going to be more than a friend to her. She came to that conclusion before going to New Bern and had even told him as much before they said their goodbyes. Tonight only reiterated that notion. Best friends' boyfriends were off limits. It wasn't one of her rules, mostly because she'd never had occasion before now to include it, but she gave strong consideration to adding it to her list. The door, which by all accounts had never really been opened but a crack, came slamming shut complete with a deadbolt lock. Yes, she really wanted to leave behind the topic of Jake Green.

"Where've you been, Hamilton?"

"All your life?" he chuckled drawing her closer.

"Don't flatter yourself." Heather paused. "Things changed a lot last October 1. We've been pretty isolated here in Jericho, only getting snippets of information. And from what I've been told, we're still only getting tidbits, but you—you've been out there. Where have you been? What have you seen?"

His tone became grave and his easy smile fell away. "You don't want to know. You think you do, but trust me. You don't."

"No, I _do _want to know. I've seen some pretty terrible things. I can take it."

He considered her words. "Alright then. I'll tell you the Disney version. I was on leave, visitin' my family in Soddy Daisy. I'd just returned stateside from Iraq. Ironically, my mama was so relieved because I'd finally be safe. Then the attacks happened. I heard about Atlanta first." He paused, remembering the trips his family used to make to the capital of the South, going to Braves games, visiting Six Flags. "I was immediately recalled."

Heather recalled the day of the attacks, seeing the mushroom cloud from the school bus. The sight was terrifying enough when she'd assumed it was the only hit. Later that night when she returned to Jericho and heard that Dale Turner's mom died in the attack—in the _Atlanta_ attack—the situation became increasingly clear _and _increasingly muddled. They were in trouble; this was no accident. But who? Why?

"How did you get word? Weren't communications pretty much shot? For that matter, wasn't the federal government itself obliterated?" To the best of her knowledge, the attack on Washington, D.C., killed the President and Vice-President, as well as most members of Congress. With the President speaking at a rare joint session of Congress, Heather assumed that a Designated Survivor had been secreted away somewhere, as was custom. Yet she couldn't be sure because information had been so limited. Those government leaders who survived did so by a stroke of luck, those like John Tomarchio, junior senator from Wyoming and now the self-proclaimed President of the Allied States of America. Tomarchio had been traveling back from visiting with troops in Afghanistan.

"Yeah. It was all pretty much a jumbled mess. Worst case scenario. But you know the military trains for worst case scenarios. The chain of command held."

"But who was calling the shots?" Her hunger for information shone through her voice.

"My C.O."

"And who was telling your commanding officer what to do?"

"_His_ C.O."

Heather's brows furrowed. Was Hamilton being purposely vague?

Hamilton explained, "It's not my job to ask questions, Dorothy. It's my job to do what I'm told. And I was told to aid in relief efforts and help enforce martial law. My regiment worked its way from Ohio to Nebraska and now to Kansas, securing roads and towns."

Heather always knew that there had to have been some breakdown in order in places other than Jericho. Gray Anderson and the others who went on the fact-finding mission shortly after the attacks confirmed the general lawlessness that abounded. What must it have been like in the cities that weren't hit? For people who had no resources, no way of eking an existence, panic and chaos must have come swiftly.

"That must have been difficult for you. To leave your family after the attacks, not knowing what you would find when you left."

"It was. My brothers tried to convince me that the rules had changed, that I didn't have to leave, but…" his voice trailed off. "I had a duty. We'll see each other again."

Heather noticed the shadow that crossed his features. "You can't go back, can you?"

"As things stand, no. But the Army is my home, these men, my family."

Heather had so many more questions she wanted to ask. As she looked at the patch on his uniform, the patch that featured the new flag of the Allied States, she couldn't help but still feel uneasy by its appearance. How did Hamilton go from serving in the U.S. Army to being affiliated with the Allied States? Did he think Civil War was imminent? Why was information being suppressed?

* * *

Jake sank onto the barstool, leaning his elbows on the bar and propping his head up with his hands. What was wrong with him? The woman he cared about was offering everything of herself to him, and he wouldn't accept it. It only went to show he'd not lost his touch. Maybe he could parlay that into something more lasting, a book entitled _101 Ways to Screw Up Your Life_. He'd certainly had expert experience. How many times did he dream of Emily when he was gone, wishing that he could have just one more chance to get it right? Freddy used to give him hell for it. Now he had that chance, and he was pushing it aside.

_But Emily's not offering everything of herself_, Jake reminded himself. It all came down to the issue of trust, and he couldn't blame her. If he were in her position, he doubted he would trust himself. He was too unpredictable, too damaged, too…

"Everything all right, Jake?" Mary Bailey asked as she wiped down the counter.

All right? He couldn't remember the last time he'd been 'all right.' Sure, there had been moments that were better than others, but his life had consisted of aimlessness, followed by crisis after crisis. With the military in town, he knew he should have felt better. Let someone else bear the weight of rebuilding, of being in charge of the people's survival. Instead, he felt on edge. For the last four weeks, he'd been unable to pinpoint the source of his unease. He'd thought it had more to do with the loss of his father and the fact Constantino still had not answered for his crimes, but after speaking with Heather earlier and knowing what he did from Hawkins, he knew it went far deeper, and he suspected that this new federal government wasn't a by-product of terrorist attacks but was instead the perpetrator.

_Heather. _

He'd gone months without seeing or hearing from her. He'd feared her dead, and she'd proven everyone wrong.

_Heather Lisinski and cockroaches—you just can't get rid of us, _she had joked earlier. It was so typically Heather; but behind the easygoing manner in which she spoke and the smiles that lit up her eyes, he knew there was more to Heather than anyone else saw. He just didn't know why it had taken him so long to recognize that.

All Jake wanted to do was talk to her, to learn everything he could about her. Sitting at the dinner table, knowing that he'd been oblivious to so many basic facts about Heather that others in their presence did know, Jake felt like a heel. More than that, it made him realize he'd been missing out.

Whether Heather would give him the opportunity to get to know her better would be another matter altogether.

The look on Heather's face as she stood outside the ruins of her apartment building frightened him, the unearthly calm. He'd seen it again tonight. The passive expression as they sat together at the table with Emily, who pressed the issue of the living situation. Heather had been a good sport in the midst of madness, wordlessly acknowledging the relationship between Emily and him and raising a barrier.

_You're better off, Green_, he tried to tell himself. _The less you're around Heather, the easier it will be with Emily. _

On the other hand, he had been friends with Heather long before he and Emily reunited, and they _were_ living under the same roof. Surely he couldn't be expected to ignore her altogether. Nor did he want to ignore her. He wanted—oh God, what _did _he want?

"Jake?" Mary's voice came through Jake's thoughts. "Did you hear me?"

Jake lifted his head and nodded. "Nothing's wrong that more of your fine elixir wouldn't cure."

Mary leaned forward, as though confiding in him. She noted the general resignation in his posture, as well as the weariness in his eyes. "You're welcome to another drink, Jake, but I don't think it can fix what's wrong."

"You saw?" he grimaced.

"Oh yeah," the curly haired bartender replied as she poured a glass of her special stilled liquor. "Want my observations?"

Truthfully, Jake didn't particularly want to hear what he knew was coming, but he'd had enough arguing for one night. "Shoot."

"You came in with Eric, your mom, and Heather, and for the first time in a long time, you looked happy. Jake, it was good to see you smile again. Do you know when I saw you drop the smile? When Emily came in."

Jake shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"What are you doing to yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

"You and I have known each other a long time, Jake, and I've seen this before. Wasn't it Einstein who said the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?"

"There's something to be said for tenacity."

"There's also something to be said for stupidity." Mary tilted her head, indicating the makeshift dance floor. "So that handsome young officer finally got Heather to dance with him. They look nice together, don't they? His name is Hamilton. Heather and Hamilton. It has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"What do you want me to say?" Annoyance crept into his voice.

She shrugged, playing off his irritation. "You don't have to say anything. Just thought you might appreciate a change in topic, that's all. Eric was very excited to have Heather back in town."

"We all are," Jake agreed. "She's one of a kind."

"She sure is. I'm guessing you may not have a roommate for long. Some young buck—and there are plenty around here—is going to snatch her up."

"Goodnight, Mary," Jake replied setting the glass down on the bar with force.

She watched as Jake stalked to the dance floor. A knowing smile spread across her features as she emerged from behind the bar and walked over to the jukebox. _That was too easy._

* * *

Jake Green had a habit of acting first and thinking about consequences later. He would have been the first to admit that it frequently got him into trouble. He'd been trying to curb that habit, but he figured tomorrow was as a good a day as any to start.

"May I cut in?"

Though her back was turned, Heather would have recognized that voice anywhere. Her eyes met Hamilton's, a look of supreme amusement on his face to accompany the look of absolute panic that must have filled her own features.

Heather Lisinski had a habit of thinking, and pondering, and then deliberating more before she acted. She could be decisive when called upon to be so, but she was forever running through scenarios in her mind. As she heard Jake's request, she could not imagine this particular scenario ending well.

"Politeness dictates that I oblige," the young lieutenant replied as he released Heather. With a twinkle in his eyes, he added, "Dorothy, as always, it was a pleasure. I trust I will see you soon."

"Goodnight, Hamilton," Heather replied. She watched as he walked away, so full of information she still didn't possess. She still hadn't turned to face Jake, but she felt his presence, the heat from his body, his distinctive scent that reminded her faintly of sandalwood.

"Dorothy?" Jake questioned. Heather could almost hear a frown in his voice.

Heather turned to face him feeling inordinately apprehensive. "You know, _Wizard of Oz_. Click those ruby slippers and get home to Kansas."

Oh to be able to click her shoes and disappear to another place—what she wouldn't give for that ability! At that moment, she wanted to be _anywhere_ but with Jake Green. She felt wounded, and if she was going to lick her wounds, she didn't want to be faced with seeing him while she did it. And then there was that part of her that didn't want to be anywhere else _except _with Jake Green. Being near him made her feel alive again, as though she was awakening from a fog of the mundane.

The sultry tones of a new song began, its light drums and keyboard pattern imitating the sound of a heartbeat. Heather felt her breath catch within her as the song fell in rhythm with her heartbeat. The room around her seemed to melt away, and all she could see was him.

He was beautiful from the curve of his lips to his dark eyes. She remembered that fall afternoon as Jake readied to leave for Rogue River to seek out medicine for his father. The thought that he might not make it back safely tore at her, and she'd kissed him, felt his lips, warm and moist, caressing hers. But what was infinitely more appealing about Jake in Heather's mind was his intelligence, his fearlessness bordering on audacity, and the love he had for his family and his town.

She needed to get away. She was over thinking again, and nothing good could come from it.

"Look, Jake, it's been a long day, so…"

"You want me to take you home?" He studied her, how she nervously bit at her bottom lip. Her normally creamy skin was flushed, and she looked like she about to jump out of her skin. He could've kicked himself for once again placing her in an awkward situation.

"I—I think that would be best. Don't you?"

"Yes, that would probably be best."

Yet neither of them made a move to leave.

"You're not leaving," she uttered.

"Neither are you," he pointed out.

_You look so fine.  
I want to break your heart and give you mine.  
You're taking me over._

And then it happened. His hands reached out and took possession of her hips. Jake drew himself nearer to Heather, bridging the expanse between them. Heather felt her mouth go dry. She'd been closer to him before, even earlier in the day, for that matter. But this—_this_ felt different.

"What are you doing, Jake?"

"Dancing with you," he murmured, his warm breath making the delicate shell of her ear tingle.

Moving together to the music, their bodies were molded as if for one another. As much as she knew she should protest and retreat as far in the opposite direction as possible, her feet simply would not cooperate. Being close to Jake, feeling the hardness of his lean muscles, the raw energy he exuded, she wanted to melt into him now, for later—there would be no later.

Her heart continued to pound, its beat resonating in her ears. Was the world spinning around them, its motion fleeting and beautiful and hypnotic, or was it just her imagination? She felt unsteady on her feet as their bodies came into contact, but the way he held her close, Heather had no doubt that he would sustain her with his strength.

_It's so insane.  
You've got me tethered and chained.  
I hear your name, and I'm falling over._

Emboldened, Heather lightly trailed her hands on his shoulders before resting them along the nape of his neck. Unconsciously, she ran her fingertips back and forth through his hair, eliciting a slight hiss from him as his eyes seemed to darken even more. He leaned his forehead against hers, and Heather was reminded once again of the one and only time they'd kissed. She wanted nothing more than to relive that moment in actuality, but the reality of their circumstances began to set in, breaking through the haze of delight that enveloped her. "People are going to talk about this," she whispered, their lips only inches from one another's.

"They were going to talk anyway." His voice was husky, and Heather's heart quickened.

_What are we doing?_ she thought to herself as she dropped her hands to his shoulders, putting a semblance of distance between their bodies. But as one of his hands moved from her hip to rest below the curve of her jaw line, she didn't protest the intimate gesture. She couldn't.

No, she was captivated.

Jake exhaled softly as he touched Heather. Her skin felt so soft against his coarse hands, and for the briefest moment he allowed his thoughts to carry him to places he rarely liked to go.

She was smooth.

He was rough.

She was stunning, from her pert nose and bright blue eyes to her slender curves, curves he found himself wanting to explore more fully. She was vivacious, incredibly sharp, and industrious to the point of unintentionally making others look like fools. She was brave, inherently decent, and innocent in so many ways.

He was a screw up, a wasteful, bitter coward who'd left behind everyone he cared for, a man who destroyed everything he touched.

_I can't take it like the other girls.  
I won't share it like the other girls  
That you used to know.  
You look so fine._

He pulled back slightly, reality once again making its presence known. Heather Lisinski was too good for him, and he wouldn't destroy her with his self-destructive tendencies.

"Heather, about what happened earlier…"

What was there to say? He wasn't even sure why he'd delayed telling her. He'd played off to Eric that it wouldn't matter one way or the other, but if that were true, he knew he should have at least mentioned that he and Emily were trying to make things work this time.

Four weeks ago, Jake had been lost. He'd reached out to Emily, fumbling amidst his grief, his anger, his loss, his numbness, and he'd buried himself in her. Wanting to feel something—anything—for whatever length of time, he'd clung to Emily for comfort, for safety, for the snippets of physical pleasure that sex and a warm body provided. As he had watched her disrobe the night of his father's death, he had believed that their first time together in years would afford some distraction from the events going on around him, some fulfillment. But after, he found himself still grieving, still angry, and still feeling helpless over the losses that surrounded him. He had connected with Emily physically, but emotionally he felt but an echo of what they'd once shared.

In fact, he'd felt emotionally _dis_connected with everyone until yesterday in the middle of an argument with Major Beck when he saw the slight figure of Heather Lisinski walk into the major's office. She brought with her something Jake hadn't felt in the months since her absence: hope.

Jake swallowed hard, realization setting in. It was time to stop lying to himself: his silence had been based on selfishness. He knew the moment he told Heather that he and Emily had rekindled their relationship, Heather would put up a wall, albeit a friendly one, but a wall nonetheless, and that would be it. The end. No more smiles from her, no more furtive glances, no more hope. And so he'd kept quiet, instead enjoying the time he had with her before all the complications could catch up to them. And in so doing, he'd hurt her.

_But he'd be damned if he destroyed her._

Heather was surprised to see the turmoil written upon Jake's features. The tenderness in his eyes contrasted with the determination she saw in the set of his jaw. For as much as a part of her wanted to rail against him, the other parts of her, the rational part and the prideful part, wanted to make the conversation go away. "You don't owe me anything, Jake. No explanations."

_Knocked down  
Cried out  
Been down just to find out  
I'm through  
Bleeding for you_

"Still, you got blindsided, and that's not what I wanted for you. You deserved better." _You deserve better than me. You always have. I've known this all along, but I let myself forget._

Heather intended for her words to Jake to sound strong, but they came out more as a sigh. "All I want is for you to be happy. Some part of me always knew that you and Emily were on pause but not over. Who could contend with that? Who would _want _to?"

Who indeed? Jake silently acknowledged that his relationship with Emily had once been like a force of nature—powerful, intense, all-consuming, and destructive. They'd ended, but he and Emily never had closure. The same issues that troubled them then troubled them now. Only they were older, had few illusions about the other, and the relationship wasn't all-consuming. But it was real, and Jake needed to see it through. He owed it to Emily. God, he owed her.

Was Emily right? Were they on a perpetual hamster wheel, always moving but going nowhere? Truthfully, Jake hadn't thought much about it one way or the other, but tonight had given him so much to think about.

_I'm open wide.  
I want to take you home.  
We'll waste some time.  
You're the only one for me._

Heather moved her hand over his, and Jake could feel the calluses on her small palm as she gently pulled his hand away from her face and intertwined her fingers with his. Jake fought the urge to smile when he felt her roughened skin. He supposed he should have been concerned or lamented the fact that circumstances in her life had changed so much that the skin was hardened. But he couldn't feel regret for the coarse skin on her hands. She might have been smooth, but she was also rough.

"You're pretty amazing, you know that? You could have any man you wanted."

Not true. Their very conversation was proof of that. "Not if you keep chasing away my prospective dates," she replied wryly. Tilting her head slightly, she looked up at him. "Why _did_ you ask to cut in?"  
_  
You look so fine.  
I'm like the desert tonight.  
Leave her behind  
If you want to show me._

"It seemed like a good idea at the time. Friends can share a dance." But even as he said the words, Jake realized how hollow they sounded. There had been nothing friendly about their dance or the responses she drew from him without even trying.

From the slight shake of Heather's head and the stiffening of her body, Jake knew she thought his words rang untrue, as well. He'd disappointed her again.

Heather spoke calmly, shame washing over her. What were they doing? Over and over, her father had taught that just because something felt good, that didn't mean it was right. Being close to Jake filled her with a sense of wonderment and yearning. It made her want to forget that anyone else in the world existed.

But she couldn't forget, even if temptation pulled at her, even if she wished their circumstances were different. "We share more than a dance, Jake. We both love Emily. She was really bothered tonight, and while I know she has no reason in the world to be worried…"

_I'm not like all the other girls  
I won't take it like the other girls  
I won't fake it like the other girls  
That you used to know_

"…I don't want to give her cause to doubt that." She brought her arms down to her side, disentangling herself from him.

Jake nodded as he distanced himself from Heather. Her wall was being erected again, and he had no one to blame but himself. "You're right. I wasn't thinking."

_You're taking me over.  
Over and over  
I'm falling over.  
Over and over._

Heather managed a jovial voice, its artificial cheer resonated in her ears. "We're okay. Aren't we? No lines crossed."

_Drown in me one more time  
Hide inside me tonight  
Do what you want to do  
Just pretend happy end  
Let me know let it show_

_Ending with letting go._

But as they walked out of Bailey's, and Jake draped his jacket on Heather's shoulders, he knew he had crossed the line with her, and it couldn't happen again.


	9. Chapter 9A

**Author's Note:** A huge thank you goes out to Skyrose who betaed this chapter for me.

This chapter became exceedingly long (60+ pages), so I have divided it into more manageable reading sections, hence this being chapter 9A.

Previously in _Dangerous_, Jericho struggled to put the pieces back together following the New Bern War, a task made difficult through a lack of resources. Heather returned after a prolonged absence, only to find that people believed her to be dead and her home was destroyed in the mortar attacks. Along with carrying a torch for Jake, Heather is carrying guilt over her time in New Bern.

When we last left our characters, Jake had received a mysterious message from 'the Pool Guy' a.k.a. Hawkins. Heather discovered that Jake and Emily were back together, though it became readily apparent that there was trouble in (non)paradise. Heather became further acquainted with Lieutenant Hamilton, and the two shared a dance. With Mary's prodding, Jake asked to cut in, which only served to deepen the sense of longing and confusion between Jake and Heather. Out of loyalty to Emily, the two decided to keep their distance.

**Rating:** PG-13 for mild sexual references

**Disclaimer:** _Jericho_ and its related characters are not my property. I am, however, borrowing them for a bit and will return them (mostly) unscathed.

* * *

**Chapter Nine, Part A: "Pretenses"**

Heather Lisinski was a light sleeper, though that wasn't always the case. When she was growing up, her father used to tease her that she'd sleep right through the second coming. Maybe it was because she typically found herself busy from the moment she awoke to the time she went to bed that she could sleep so soundly. Maybe it was because she used to feel safe. Maybe it was because she used to have a clear conscience. For whatever reason, Heather no longer slept like the dead.

_But she did dream of the dead. _

Usually those dreams involved snapshots of hands the color of crimson or a mouth forming stunned, pained words. Sometimes those dreams provided snippets of sound and scent. But always those dreams shook her to her very core.

It was a little before 4:30 A.M. when Heather awoke, her senses initially groggy. She heard shuffling in the room next door, the sound of the door opening, and sure but quiet footsteps going down the hall. She was grateful for the sound which roused her from the dreams.

She sat up in bed.

_Jake_. It had to be. Why was he awake so early?

Heather thought back to the strange expression that crossed his face yesterday when Gail mentioned his to-do list, as well as how Jake covered when she saw him outside the bathroom.

_It doesn't matter_, she told herself. _If he wanted you to know, he would have told you. Besides, the best thing you can do for yourself is keep your distance_.

Logically, Heather knew this to be true, but as she lay back down and was lulled to a near dream-like state in the sleepy recesses of her mind, her old dreams were replaced by new ones as she could almost feel his hands on her hips, the way he pulled her close to him as they danced, and how his warm breath against her ear sent shivers down her spine. _"You could have any man you wanted."_

Why did that man have to be Jake Green?

She drifted back to a restless sleep.

* * *

When Jake let himself out of the house around 4:30 A.M, it was still dark and quiet. Locking the deadbolt behind him, Jake pulled his jacket more securely around himself and set off by foot for Hawkins's place. It was easy enough to avoid the few soldiers he saw on foot patrol, and he spoke to no one along the way, which was the point of the early morning rendezvous.

Jake arrived at Hawkins's house some twenty minutes later. To the best of his knowledge, it had been empty for the last four weeks, and no one had heard from the family, except for a quick note left by Darcy for Jimmy Taylor, thanking him for his hospitality and asking him not to worry. Eric had inquired about the legality of allowing some of those who were left homeless from the war stay at the empty Hawkins house, but Jake's strong reaction to the request put an end to Eric's pursuits. While Jake didn't divulge details to his brother, he knew they couldn't take the chance of letting someone stay there. Too much was at stake; if someone were to find Hawkins's hidden room or the "package" in the shed, all hell would break loose.

His eyes, aided by the half moon, surveyed his surroundings before he inserted the key he'd found in the horse barn into the keyhole. He unlocked the door, let himself inside, and closed the door behind him.

And then he heard the cocking of a gun.

"It's good to see you, too," Jake said wryly as Robert Hawkins emerged from the shadows holding a .45.

"You're early," the other man replied calmly, lowering the weapon. He placed the safety mechanism on and tucked the gun in his holster.

"You're late," Jake replied. He'd been left wondering over the last four weeks what had become of Robert Hawkins and his family.

Hawkins half grimaced and half smiled. "I need your help, Jake."

Minutes later, the two men were in Hawkins's basement. The last time Jake had been there, he'd held Hawkins at gunpoint, demanding to know who he was and what his connection to the attacks had been. Jake found out more that day than he could have ever imagined, culminating with a first-hand view of the "package." Hawkins's burden had also become Jake's burden.

"Anyone been asking questions about me?" Hawkins asked as he leaned against the small metal desk.

Jake's eyes went to the map that hung on the wall. Red push pins indicated cities hit in the nuclear attacks. Despite the fact that six months had passed since the attacks, he still found it stunning that twenty-three American cities were destroyed. People he knew and cared about were dead, some he'd seen alive the day before the attacks. "The usual questions. Where you went, why you left."

"What did you tell them?"

"Exactly what you asked. Nothing more, nothing less. So where were you really?"

"Tying up some loose ends."

"Loose ends," Jake repeated numbly as his mind raced. He knew better than to ask what those 'loose ends' were. "Did you have trouble getting back to town?"

"I know the back roads." Hawkins's time with the Rangers had been valuable, as was his familiarity with military protocol from his years in the service as a younger man.

"The Army has the main roads blockaded. They control who comes in and out. 'Protection,' they call it…goes to show their 'protection' leaves a lot to be desired."

"Home field advantage," Hawkins commented on his ease of returning undetected.

"Three hundred soldiers arrived yesterday. The visitors' section is getting a little crowded."

Hawkins's eyebrows rose. He could hear in Jake's tone his disdain for the military presence in Jericho. Truthfully, that presence complicated matters. Complicated things like hell. But perhaps they could get it to work to their benefit.

"Any official word on why?" Hawkins asked.

"The major and I aren't exactly what I would call close, but I think we both know why they're here."

Hawkins stepped forward, his casual demeanor melding into one more intense. "I need you in there, Jake. I need your eyes and ears. Your influence."

"My influence?" Jake fought the urge to laugh. "The biggest influence I have over Beck is that I'm a pain in his ass."

"Beck?" Hawkins asked crossing his arms.

"Major Edward Beck. By the book, hardcore Army major. He's in charge of the 'reconstruction.'"

Hawkins turned away, his eyes falling upon the photographs on his cork board. Giant red X's crossed the features of some of the photographs. These were the people with whom he began his journey; now there were only three remaining, himself included. "And where does Mayor Anderson fit into all this?"

"He's like a puppy jumping around trying to satisfy everyone. He's rolling over, letting the military do as it pleases, promising resources that we can't spare."

"I need you in there," Hawkins repeated as he turned to face the man who had become his partner, out of necessity, out of luck. "Make it happen."

The thought of cozying up to anyone in the new government nearly made bile rise in Jake's throat. If Hawkins was going to ask him to do this, there better damn well be a good reason. "Why is this so important?"

Hawkins said with a steely gaze, "If you don't, someone's gonna get away with killing millions of people. Listen carefully…"

* * *

When Heather arose two hours later, she found the house empty. The door to Jake's room was open, and his bed was made. Gail, too, had already left for an early shift at the clinic.

Heather wandered down the stairs, wearing the t-shirt of Jake's that Gail had loaned her the day before along with the military issued pants in which she had traveled. She fingered the fabric of the shirt slightly; it seemed intimate to be wearing his clothing, and the thought brought color to her cheeks.

When Heather walked into the kitchen, she saw a bag on the counter along with a note that had her name on it. She picked up the note and found that it was taped to a key chain. The corners of her mouth lifted somewhat as she examined the key chain's decorative attachment, a thin silver plated piece of metal with "Home is where you're loved" etched into it. Heather was sure it was a key chain that Gail had lying around unused; nevertheless, it made Heather feel welcomed.

_Heather,_

_I pulled together a few things that I thought you could use until we can get you some more essentials. I also wanted to make sure you had a key to the house so that you can come and go more freely. There's some instant oatmeal for breakfast, and eggs are in the fridge. _

_I'm really glad you're with us._

_Gail_

Her eyes went to the paper bag on the countertop. In the bag, she found a pair of blue jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt, a flannel over shirt, packages of socks and panties, and a razor. When had Gail found the time or resources to do this for her? Heather tightly held the keychain in the palm of her hand and fought the tears that were forming in her eyes.

Some time later, after eating a bowl of oatmeal and cleaning the dishes, Heather retreated upstairs to shower and change. The water heater was still on the fritz, as was evidenced by the steady stream of cold water that hit her back. It was a definite incentive to shower as quickly as possible. She supposed she could have heated some water on the stove and taken a bath, but she decided to suck it up and take the quicker route with a shower instead. Besides, tackling the issue of the hot water heater as soon as possible only meant she could solve the problem sooner.

Once out of the shower, she wrapped herself in a towel, tucking the edge of the terry material under her arm. She opened the door to the bathroom and scurried out to walk across the hallway to her room, eager to put on clean, dry, warm clothes.

In her haste, she collided with Jake, momentarily losing her balance. He steadied her, his calloused hands on the tender flesh of her bare arms. Heather stood dumbfounded by his nearness and the warmth that permeated her cool skin from his touch.

The towel loosened, but Heather caught it before it dipped too low. "Jake! I—I didn't hear you come home," she stammered.

Jake watched as redness colored her cheeks, spreading down to her neck and chest area. "When the water rattles through these old pipes, it's hard to hear much of anything else," he replied, his eyes sweeping over her. Tiny droplets of water made their way down her chest, some disappearing into her towel and some between the valley of her breasts. Jake's breath hitched as he forced his gaze upward, meeting her startled blue eyes.

"We've…we've got to keep meeting this way. I mean, stop. _Stop_ meeting this way." The pinkness of her skin deepened. "Oooh," she groaned as she pushed past him into her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Jake could hear her leaning against the door.

He lifted his hand to knock on the door, thought better of it, and went to his room.

Glancing at the clock, he saw it was still early, but he felt like he'd already put in a full day. The meeting with Hawkins had his mind on fire. The run in with Heather in the hallway had his body on fire. He had to get a handle on it. Heather was his friend and nothing more, even if her eyes did sparkle like the sun on San Diego Bay, even if she was a breath of fresh air and reminded him of a warm spring day.

_Get a handle on it, Jake._

He plopped down on top of his bed, not bothering to pull back the covers or take off his shoes, and found himself staring at the ceiling. His life had become increasingly complicated, and he was still trying to wrap his mind around all the changes.

Six months ago, everyone viewed him as an unreliable punk who had torn out of town with his tail between his legs, a prodigal son who had come to stir trouble. Six months ago, Jake had no idea 

who Robert Hawkins was, the involvement Hawkins had in the most momentous crime ever committed, or that he would be seeing the birth of a new nation. Six months ago, he was running from Ravenwood, convinced that if he managed to make it another half a year, it would be a miracle.

Some miracle.

"_Listen carefully. The military wasn't sent to keep the peace between Jericho and New Bern. It would've been easier for Cheyenne to just let the towns fight it out, come in, and take what was left."_

_Jake thought back to his earlier conversation with Heather and how Colonel Hoffman's original assertion that the battle was out of his jurisdiction had been swiftly replaced by a strong desire to intercede. "No, they're here to find a terrorist, and they needed people alive so they could field their investigation."_

_Jake was torn. A part of him resented what Hawkins had brought upon their town. Then there was that part that had grown to trust the man who stood before him, despite the shroud of mystery that had surrounded him when he first arrived in Jericho and still did, in many ways._

"_Exactly," Hawkins replied._

"_So they think they're looking for you?"_

"_No, they're looking for Sarah Mason." Hawkins indicated one of the photos on his cork board._

"_Your handler." _

"_Right. They think if they find Sarah, they'll find the bomb. Every bomb has a signature, a calling card that indicates its origin. If you were in the upper level of the Cheyenne government, would you want the world to know you were responsible? Cheyenne needs legitimacy. The bomb proves this government is bastardized."_

_Jake's jaw clenched. "What do you want me to do?"_

_Hawkins smiled. "I'm glad you asked."_

And just like that, Jake had been pulled back into an untenable situation. And somehow he had to make it work.

* * *

On the other side of the door, Heather sat on the floor muttering, "You have got to get over this bad case of the stupids." She took a deep breath, pulled herself up, and got dressed. She was pleased to discover that Gail, in addition to being extremely thoughtful, also had a good eye for size. Now if only there was something in that bag Gail provided that could combat Heather's knack for making a fool of herself in front of Jake.

She sighed softly. The new clothes would be comfort enough. The shirt and jeans Heather pulled on were simple but fit perfectly. She brushed her hair and pulled it into a ponytail.

Heather hesitantly went into the hallway, walked a few feet, and stood in the doorway to Jake's room. The door was open, and he was lying on his bed, his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. "Um, hi."

Jake propped himself on his elbows and looked at Heather. "Hi."

Heather's heart quickened. It was a purely physical reaction to him, and, she knew, entirely superficial, but seeing the way his t-shirt stretched across his muscled chest and broad shoulders, made her feel even more inept. "Okay. So there's something you should know. Two somethings, actually. First, I am a dork."

He scowled.

"No, really, I am! I don't know why that is, but I am, and my dorkiness will periodically shine through. Consider yourself warned. The other something is that I have no tools, and I feel _really_ lost without them. Your mother has been very kind to me, and I would like to return the favor by fixing the hot water heater. Do you have any tools I could use? Oh, and I may also need a hose to drain the water heater."

"Industrious as always," Jake commented as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Heather could see the weariness in his eyes.

"Well, you know the old saying. Idle hands…"

"…do the devil's work. Yeah, I've demonstrated that adage repeatedly." A lopsided smile formed on Jake's lips as he sat all the way up, but his smile was not met with one from Heather. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked to the doorway. She stiffened slightly at his approach. Noticing her reaction and wanting to reassure her, he continued, "I don't want you to be nervous around me, Heather. I'm just a man."

Heather's breath caught within her. He wasn't _just_ a man. He was special. He was brave and bold and beautiful and tormented and smart and funny and wonderfully imperfect and taken. "And I can't afford to get too comfortable around you, Jake." She spoke steadily, her words carefully measured. "Now, about those tools…"

Jake nodded. "Right."

* * *

Some time later, Jake shut off the electricity to the water heater and closed the water supply valve so that Heather could safely drain the water from the unit and open it. He watched as she attached a garden hose to the drain valve near the base of the unit. She gave him a quick nod, and he stretched the hose from the basement laundry room where the water heater was located to the bathroom adjacent to the laundry facility, finally securing the hose in the stand alone shower so that water could drain once she turned the valve.

"Here's something I never thought I would see," Jake commented loudly so Heather could hear him from the other room, "a garden hose in my parents' basement. I've got it on my end."

"Okay. Here goes," she called back opening the valve to let the water drain.

Jake came back into the laundry room and saw her kneeling next to the tank, examining the metal plates covering the thermostats. "It's a 60 gallon tank. This'll take awhile."

"You look sleepy," she commented. "I can take it from here."

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" he asked with a half-teasing tone.

She didn't immediately answer; she didn't have to. Jake already knew.

He cleared his throat. A gentleman would have heeded her wishes, given her space and time, but Jake's legs were unwilling to make the trek up the stairs. Heather had been gone for four months, and he couldn't help but want to be near her, to learn more about her life and her experiences. What made Heather Lisinski tick?

"So how did you learn to do all this?"

Heather paused, realized Jake wasn't going anywhere, and finally answered, "My dad. He was a jack-of-all-trades, a real tinkerer. He thought it would be a good idea for me to learn, and who was I to argue? I liked the time we spent together taking things apart and putting them back together again." She stood and placed her hand on top of the water heater.

"So what do you think is wrong with it?" Jake asked.

"My guess? The heating coils. That should be easy enough to fix if we can find working parts. You see, most electric water heaters are pretty much the same." She pointed to the two copper pipes attached to the top of the unit and found herself falling into teacher mode. "Cold water comes in and is heated by the heating elements which are, by the way, similar to what can be found in an electric oven. The hot water then goes out through the other pipe. As the hot water is used, it is then replaced by fresh cold water. Despite the influx of cold water, a hot water heater should maintain water at a preset temperature because the warm water rises to the top and the cold water sinks to the bottom. The cycle repeats itself." She looked back at him, expecting to see a glazed over look on his features, but was surprised by the look of interest she saw there instead. "I get carried away. You probably already knew all of that, Mr. I-Can-Blow-Things-Up. "

Jake chuckled. "Pyrotechnics were more my thing, not hot water heaters. But if you want help blowing it up…"

"I think I'll pass. Granted, blowing things up probably is more exciting than repairing household appliances. Still, the great thing about appliances and cars is that they may have problems, but there's always a clear cut solution."

"Unlike with people."

She nodded as she looked through the tool bag to find a wrench to take the protective plates off the thermostat and heating coils. "I understand little people. Children, I mean. They don't have pretenses. They eventually learn to, but they aren't inherently programmed that way." Her eyes fluttered closed, and she could envision her former students, so full of life and personality. Her job hadn't been easy—no job ever done well ever was—but teaching third grade had been fulfilling. She'd considered it a privilege to get to share in the children's lives and their learning experiences.

Jake watched Heather and got the sense that she was holding on to far more than she revealed. He knew better than anyone how complex human nature was, how near impossible it was to maneuver through the cavalcade of what people said versus what they did or thought. Hadn't he been caught up in that cavalcade for the good portion of his adult life? Working for Jonah Prowse, sugar-coating exactly what those "deliveries" were about, being in war zones, unwittingly providing weaponry to the highest bidder, hiding his past from his family for so long, even being caught up with Hawkins and "the package" again, pretending there wasn't a nuclear warhead hidden under a garden shed only a mile and a half away?

Jake took a deep breath. And he'd maintained a pretense with Heather. He hadn't outright lied to her, but a lie of omission was a lie, just the same.

"Your students will be excited to see you. Do you think you'll go back to the elementary school to teach once classes get underway again?"

That was the million dollar—_was there even such thing as a dollar anymore?_—question. What would come next? Could she go back in the classroom and be what her students needed and deserved, when if they only knew what she had done, they would view her as a monster?

Using the wrench she found in the tool bag, Heather began unfastening the thermostat covers from the hot water heater. "I don't know that I'm the right person for that job anymore," she said quietly. When she was in New Bern, she would try to imagine what Ashley or Jason or Sammy was doing back home. Then she would see children the same age as them, so bright, so young, exposed to the horrors of the world. Without those bombs, without Ravenwood's plundering, without Constantino's butchery, their futures would have been so different. The thought gnawed at her.

Heather was so lost in her thoughts she dropped the wrench. Jake knelt to pick it up for her. Yet when Heather reached to retrieve it from him, he pulled it back from her reach. "Give it."

"The water is going to take awhile to drain. In the meantime, I think we need to talk."

"Are you holding the wrench hostage?"

"Something like that."

He walked out of the laundry room through the short hallway that opened up into a den area. He sank onto a couch, new since he left five years previously. It didn't quite feel like the old one, but the neutral color sure beat the loud orange furniture that used to be in the basement. "You coming?"

Heather followed him into the den but did not sit. "You know, I could just use a flat head screwdriver instead of that wrench."

"You could, but I was hoping you would humor me," he replied.

Heather sat on the edge of a chair kitty-cornered to the sofa, and Jake studied her. Her body was rigid, as though protesting his tactics. Yet in her eyes, he could see emotions swimming. Heather was haunted. Truly, she had done a remarkable job of covering, but he recognized the look. What had happened to her in New Bern? Eric had mentioned that Heather had saved his life, but his brother had refused to elaborate. Whatever it was, Jake recognized the guilt she carried, and more than anything, he wanted to help her let it go.

"Did I ever tell you where I was before I came back to Jericho?" Jake's question was more rhetorical than anything else. He'd only told snippets of his real whereabouts to four people: his parents, Eric, and Randy Payton, the young Ravenwood soldier in Rogue River.

Heather had asked around about Jake months ago, but she'd always gotten different answers when broaching the subject of those five years. Army. Navy. Minor league baseball. Some others told her they suspected Jake had been in prison. Heather theorized that Jake had spent time in the military because of the dog tags he wore and his demonstration of what could only be described as advanced military training, but they'd never had occasion to discuss it. "No, you never told me."

"I spent part of that time in Afghanistan," he said watching the expression on her face. He knew her mind was racing and the questions were forming. "I worked transporting materials for the military, sometimes by way of truck, sometimes by way of airplane." Jake's preferred method of travel had always been by plane, ever since his grandfather used to take him up in the old crop duster. Flying in Afghanistan wasn't a problem; it was the landing in rough terrain that proved more difficult.

"Oh, wow." That information definitely hadn't made its way into the rumor mill. She swallowed hard, imagining what he must have seen in the war zone. She'd read about the military efforts in Afghanistan to overthrow the Taliban regime and weed out terrorism. She knew that over the last decades, conditions in Afghanistan had been dire, particularly for women and children. "That must've been…"

"Yeah. When I was there, I spent some time in Kabul. I can still remember the jagged peaks of the mountains that surrounded the city. The city was dry and barren, but the mountains were thick with snow.

"There were a lot of kids who used to wait outside the headquarters for work. Most of them were shoeshine boys, and I got to know a few of them. My favorite was a boy named Nasim. He was shy, probably about eleven or twelve, and always serious." Jake rubbed his forehead. He'd been about Nasim's age when he'd started flying with his grandfather. He'd had so many more opportunities in life than the young Afghani boy. "One day I asked him if he would show me where he lived. I just wanted to understand his situation better. So he took me to a neighborhood, a shanty village really. His house, if you could call it that, was made of straw and mud. There was no running water, no furniture, no fire to keep them warm at night." A stream of liquid flowed through the middle of the packed down dirt street that divide the shanties from one another. Jake remembered how pungent the stench had been. "I met his mother, a widow, and Nasim's older brother who had been injured some weeks before in a bombing raid. They were very gracious to me, an outsider."

Heather sucked in a breath. With all the craziness of the last six months, it was easy to forget that not every place in the world enjoyed the high standard of living that they'd once enjoyed in the United States—still enjoyed, relatively speaking. Hearing of this family's living situation made a hot water heater in need of repair seem almost frivolous.

"Nasim was the bread winner for that family. He earned the equivalent of about a dollar per day. It wasn't much, but it was enough to buy bread and unrefined sugar. On occasion, he splurged for rice. He told me he was proud to be providing for his mother and brother."

"Did he go to school?"

The corners of Jake's mouth were upturned. Leave it to Heather to think about his education. "There was also a school set up for the street children. Nasim and his friends went there and had big plans for the future."

Jake paused, remembering a day when Nasim and his friend Majid got hold of a rare treat, a soccer ball that one of the British soldiers had given them. They marked a couple of goalposts on the street with the worn wooden boxes containing their brushes and polish and challenged Jake to a game. Jake's pride had been soundly pummeled that day as he played soccer with the kids, but they'd also told him that day what they wanted for themselves.

"What was the school like?"

"Small. One room. Boys only. Limited supplies. But the teacher had their imaginations awakened."

"What did they want to do?" Heather asked softly, Jake's words painting a vivid word picture in her mind. She'd remembered a time when she thought she had her own students' minds alive with dreams and possibilities.

"Some wanted to be translators. Others wanted to be drivers or carpenters. A few wanted to be professional soccer players. The point I'm trying to make is that they hadn't given up, Heather. Their lives by all accounts were hard, but still they found happiness in the least likely places."

"What do you think happened to Nasim and the others?" Heather asked.

Jake shook his head. "I don't know. I honestly don't. I know what I'd _like_ to think." His brown eyes sought her blue ones, and he could see turmoil within them.

"What do you think will happen to the kids in New Bern and the kids here in Jericho?"

Jake spoke with certainty. "They'll adapt. Probably better than some adults. It isn't right. It isn't fair. But they'll make it, Heather. They will."

"From your mouth to God's ears. New Bern is…." Heather's voice trailed off. Jake had seen New Bern firsthand. He knew exactly what New Bern had become.

"I shouldn't have let you go there," he said quietly.

"You couldn't have stopped me," she spoke matter-of-factly. "I had a bee in my bonnet. I wanted to help our town, Jake, but I…I think some part of me wanted to play hero and prove my worth. I wanted to be dangerous. Can you believe it? How's _that_ for a pretense?" She stood, leaving him on the couch.

Jake stood, shoved the wrench in the back pocket of his jeans, and trailed her. Heather had followed the garden hose into the bathroom, studying the flow of water going down the shower drain. It was still running as a steady stream.

"You do know that nothing that happened out there was your fault, right?"

She was silent and kept her back to him though she was intensely aware of his physical presence.

"Right?" he repeated.

She took a deep breath and turned to face him. "I know the only person whose actions I have any control over are my own. I know that I didn't personally send those mortars upon Jericho, but if I hadn't been so naïve…" Heather's voice trailed off. Who was she kidding? She was still naïve about so many things.

"Naïveté had nothing to do with it, Heather. Phil Constantino would have found a way to produce those mortar rounds with or without your assistance. But the wind turbines—we'd never have had those without you."

"Not everyone is going to see it that way." A worry line creased Heather's forehead. She had seen the damage done to Jericho and heard that over sixty people were killed in the attacks and many more wounded. She'd spent her time away fantasizing what it would be like to get home, but she'd not been prepared for the reality of it. And the reality was that nothing was the way she remembered it. How could it be? And how could those people who lost family members ever look at her the same way 

again? She went to New Bern, lived in New Bern, and helped New Bern, the enemy. "I don't want my being here to reflect badly on you, your mom, or Eric."

Jake fought the urge to groan. More times than he could count, he was grateful to be in Jericho. Despite that gratitude, he knew that the same attitudes that drove him away in the first place persisted. Civilization could be on the verge of collapse, but gossip mongering and self-righteousness could survive all of that. "I don't care what they think."

"You should. You are this town's leader, Jake."

He shook his head. "No, I'm not."

"Maybe not in name, but they all look to you. You're _Super Jake_ to them."

Jake nearly snorted. "What?"

Despite the heaviness of her heart, Heather managed a small smile upon seeing his surprised expression. "You've not heard that nickname? _Really?_ I thought for sure you would have by now. Jake, how many other people in this town can do what you've done? Tracheotomy? Check. Rescue a school bus full of children? Check. Rig the salt mine entrance to collapse? Check. Rescue Bonnie and Emily from fugitives? Check. Retrieve information from flight data recorders? Check. Take on Ravenwood by strapping explosives to yourself? Check. I'm sure if you filled me in on your exploits while I was gone, I could add to that list."

Jake held up his hands. "That's enough about me."

"They all trust you."

_Trust_. Such a small word. Strange how veritable strangers could put their trust in him but Emily could not.

Jake tried to brush his thoughts of Emily aside. He would have to deal with that situation, but for now he wanted nothing more than to see Heather feel better. "And _I_ trust _you_, so if what you're saying is accurate and people are unhappy with you, your association with me may very well be the first time that I've improved someone's reputation rather than ruined it."

"Were you really such a bad seed?" Heather asked, disbelief written across her features.

Jake leaned against the bathroom vanity. "You have no idea. If you'd have known me back then, you never would have given me the time of day."

"I find that hard to believe."

A smile formed on his features. "Oh, believe it. Given half a chance, I would have completely corrupted you."

She smiled back at him. "Who knows? I might have been willing to let you try," she replied flippantly. "Wow. You are something else. How did you do it?"

"What did I do?"

"You cheered me up. That's twice in two days," she replied lifting two fingers.

"And to think you were trying to get me to leave you alone," he teased. But he realized it went both ways. He may have been able to cheer up Heather, but she'd done the same for him. Ever since he saw her yesterday morning at city hall, he'd been filled with something he'd not felt in longer than he could remember: hope.

Heather shrugged. Part of her felt it would have been easier if Jake _had_ left her alone. Being around him was—oh, goodness, what _was_ it? Mesmerizing and terrifying at the same time? Alternately safe and dangerous? The more she was around him, the more difficult it became to keep her feelings in check. Yet the more she was around him, the more alive she felt. "Right now I'd just settle for the wrench."

Jake retrieved it from his back pocket and passed it to her. "So, you and this Lieutenant Hamilton…"

"Yes?" _Where was he going with this?_

"Are you going to see him again?" Jake's tone was nonchalant, but his eyes betrayed him. The intensity of his gaze made Heather feel weak in the knees, much as she had when she ran into him in the hallway only an hour before.

_Yes, you are more dangerous than safe, Jake Green_, Heather thought.

Heather's thoughts briefly traveled to the affable Lieutenant Hamilton. He was incredibly charming, boyishly attractive, and being around him was just so _easy_. There were no complications and no expectations. "Well, he's stationed here in Jericho, so I'm sure that we'll run into one another."

"That's not what I'm asking."

Heather fought the urge to reach out to Jake, to stroke his face. Instead she found herself squeezing the wrench tightly. "I know. But—I want to discuss Hamilton with you about as much as you want to discuss Emily with me." Heather looked down at the hose, which was still draining. Her voice took on a playful tone, "So what does it say about us that we seem to hang around bathrooms a lot?"

_to be continued in Chapter 9B..._


	10. Chapter 9B

**Author's Note:** A huge thank you goes out to Skyrose who betaed this chapter for me.

This chapter became exceedingly long (60+ pages), so I have divided it into more manageable reading sections, hence this being chapter 9B.

When we last left our characters, Jake met with Hawkins, who had a plan...Heather struggled to deal with the aftermath of New Bern and her feelings of intense guilt...Jake shared some of his past with Heather, and the two continued to feel drawn to one another as they worked on repairs.

**

* * *

**

Chapter Nine, Part B: "Pretenses"

Some time later, Jake and Heather found themselves on Main Street. The bustle of activity gave the place the appearance of normalcy, and Heather found herself relaxing. A number of businesses had reopened, and it looked as though several new businesses were in the preparation stages for opening soon.

"So what do you think are our chances that someone has heating elements for a hot water heater?" Heather asked walking next to Jake.

"Let's see. Post-apocalypse appliance parts. Can't say there's a huge demand." Jake stuck his hands in his pockets. "You know, back in the day, a lot of people would've just bought a new hot water heater."

Heather tilted her head, a look of mock warning crossing her features. "Don't let Marvin hear you say that," she insisted.

"Marvin? Don't tell me you've named it," Jake chuckled. First Charlotte, now Marvin. He shook his head slightly at what she had called him earlier: Super Jake. Heather and her names. Jake had a few names for her, but it was just as well to keep them to himself.

Heather clasped her small hands together, squeezing her fingers. "Well, repair work is a very intimate experience, and I wouldn't want Marvin to think I've totally given up on him. Besides, the era of the throwaway society is _so _over."

What Heather said was true. Once they were cut off from the rest of the country, they lived or died by their own resourcefulness. It was only in the last few weeks that supplies began to trickle in from beyond Jericho's borders—just not the supplies they desperately needed. "Mr. Steele's Appliance Mart is open again," Jake commented, "though I don't know if he'll be much service."

"Why do you say that?" Heather asked.

"Jennings and Rall helped a number of businesses to reopen. Appliance Mart. American Clothing. Murthy's Gas Station. In doing so, these businesses had to agree to certain terms, terms that mostly involve holding the customer in a stranglehold."

Heather's eyes traveled the length of the street. "Hmmm. I notice none of the gun shops are open again. There used to be, what, two on Main Street?"

"Yeah. Don't count on seeing those reopen any time soon, at least, not sanctioned by the Cheyenne government."

"Where do people get what they need?" Heather asked.

But Jake did not answer her. He held out his arm, stopping her in her tracks, and his body was suddenly very rigid. "Stay here," he commanded as he began to walk quickly with purpose.

* * *

As Jake watched a man he didn't recognize start to reach into the jacket he wore, Jake had a bad feeling. In his youth, he'd not listened to his gut, and it had gotten him in trouble more than once. In the last five years, he'd become far more adept at trusting his instincts. And something about the way the man carried himself just wasn't right.

_Not again_. Jake could see the man drawing a weapon, could hear him calling to Tony Schubert who stood only a few yards away with his wife and young son. Jake took off running, caught the gunman by surprise, and tackled him to the ground. The man's pistol fell a foot away. He struggled to reach it, but Jake had him pinned, his forearm to the man's throat.

Soldiers quickly surrounded the two struggling men. One retrieved the pistol while the others pulled Jake off the stranger and took the perpetrator into custody.

Tony Schubert's son—what was his name? Donald?—buried his head in his mother's skirt. Jake felt for the child. It was a different world now. He wished the child hadn't seen it, but the knowledge of how much worse the situation could have been assuaged some of Jake's guilt.

He dusted himself off, turned, and saw Heather approaching in a jog. "Jake! Are you all right?" Jake was taken aback when she threw her arms around him and felt her tremble. "If something had happened to you, I--"

Jake wrapped his arms around Heather and held her for a moment. She felt so small in his arms, and he could feel the pounding of her heart. "Ssshhhh. I'm fine, Heather," he whispered in her ear.

Heather pulled back slightly, trying to compose herself, but he noticed that her chest rose and fell rapidly, the rush of adrenaline mingled with fear still affecting her. Jake rested his forehead against hers. "I'm fine," he repeated quietly, still seeing the concern in her eyes. "I promise."

"That man. I don't remember his name, but I—I think I recognized him," Heather said as she let go of Jake and turned to watch the soldiers take the man into town hall.

"From New Bern," Jake stated.

"Yeah," Heather replied. She wondered how he knew and was about to ask but never got the chance.

"Jake, I can't thank you enough," Tony Schubert said extending his hand to Jake, who, in turn, shook it. Tony was a business systems analyst, or had been before the bombs and EMP. Now he worked at the salt mine, and he was one of the Rangers Jake had trained late last fall.

"I'm just glad I was here. Do you know that man?"

"No," Tony said shaking his head.

"Well, he seemed to know you," Jake responded. He turned back to Heather. "I need to see this through. Will you be okay without me?"

Heather nodded. "Go."

"Have you got a key to the house?" he asked as began backing away.

"Sure do," Jake heard Heather reply, though he could have sworn he heard her add under her breath, "Super Jake."

Tony turned to his wife and son. He knelt down and took the little boy in his arms. "Daddy's fine, Donnie. Don't cry." Tony looked up at his wife. "I need to go with Jake, see what this is all about. Will you be okay, Marnie?"

Tony stood, and Marnie Schubert took their son from her husband's arms. "We'll be fine. Just be safe, Tony."

He placed a tender kiss on her lips before heading toward town hall himself.

Marnie looked at Heather, whose eyes followed Jake as he hurried down Main Street. "It's never easy, is it?"

Heather's eyes met Marnie Schubert's. Heather knew Marnie mostly in passing; from time to time, Marnie would substitute at the elementary school, and they'd meet in the hallway or on the playground. Sometimes they would see each other around town. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Marnie smoothed her son's honey colored hair and cast her eyes on him. He looked so much like his father; the thought that they had come so close to losing Tony sent chills down her spine. "Seeing the men we love in harm's way. If Jake hadn't come along when he did, I can't even begin to think what would have happened. "

_The men we love…_

Heather felt flushed. "No, Mrs. Schubert, I think you have the wrong idea about Jake and me. We're not, we're not a couple," Heather stammered.

Marnie Schubert shrugged. "I could have sworn."

* * *

Moments later, in what had once been the sheriff's office, Major Edward Beck folded his arms over his broad chest as he circled the man brought in for questioning. "What happened out there?" The man, in turn, looked at Beck petulantly and uttered nothing. "You don't have anything to say for yourself?"

Jake Green and Tony Schubert exchanged glances, impatience evident on both men's features. This was taking too long. Weren't there enough eyewitnesses to settle this matter definitively? "I have plenty to say," Jake asserted. "This man," he said pointing to the stranger, "attempted to murder Tony Schubert in cold blood. I heard him call Tony's name, saw him pull the gun from his jacket, and take aim. That's when I tackled him."

"Do you know this man?" Beck asked Tony.

Tony shook his head, his bespectacled gray eyes filled with bewilderment. To think that someone wanted to kill _him_. "No. We've never even spoken before."

"Heather thinks he's from New Bern," Jake added.

"Heather Lisinski?" Beck asked. "She recognized him?" Their interview had been cut short, but Beck suspected that Heather still had much valuable information that she could impart, and he was determined to get it. Soon. Despite—or perhaps because of—the role of saboteur she'd taken on in New Bern, Beck believed that there was something inherently decent about the young woman. He also sensed that she carried with her a lifetime's worth of regrets about her time spent there.

Beck knew something about regret. But he pushed aside the stray thought, compartmentalizing it just as he would a weapons inventory file.

The New Bern man sat listening to the conversation among the other men and futilely pulled at the plastic cord ties that bound his wrists together. A flicker of recognition darted across his features at the mention of Heather Lisinski. She had become the stuff of legend in New Bern, a hometown girl sent to infiltrate and destroy New Bern on behalf of Jericho. But wasn't she supposed to be dead? He imagined Phil Constantino would be interested in knowing she was still alive and kicking.

Jake nodded. "It makes sense. He wouldn't be the first from New Bern to come here and seek vengeance."

Beck's words were measured, patient, the same overbearing patience that made Jake's blood boil. "Goes both ways, doesn't it, Jake? I've held a few men from Jericho in New Bern for the same reason." Beck turned back to the detainee, choosing not to see the look of hostility on Jake's face. "You know Heather Lisinski?"

The man said nothing, though he breathed heavily, seething. The whites of his eyes contrasted with the filth of his dirt-smudged face. This man's demeanor reminded Beck of his first encounter with Jake Green four weeks earlier at the Richmond farm. Beck's men had brought Jake in to sit across from Phil Constantino to discuss the terms of the ceasefire between New Bern and Jericho. Jake's first reaction had been to physically attack the leader of New Bern. Now this man who sat bound in the wood chair looked as though he wanted nothing more than to tear apart anyone in his path.

Jake voiced his disapproval. "I thought the point of having the military here was to prevent things like this from happening."

Beck's eyes narrowed. He considered himself a patient man, but his patience was wearing thin. He wanted to help Jericho. Truly he did, but some of the townspeople, Jake Green in particular, were hell bent on making his job all the more difficult. "Unless you're willing to show me all the back ways to get in to Jericho, I can't guarantee anything. He knows what you know, and he's not talking."

Jake looked away from Beck. Living in a military occupation in Kansas—and all the complications it brought—wasn't exactly what he'd envisioned for himself. Yes, the New Bern people were using the back roads, but so were people from Jericho, people like Hawkins. Beck was right; Jake could put an end to the chances of similar scenarios recurring, but at what price? Did he really want this new government's military knowing everything? _Hell no_.

"What are you going to do once the military moves out, Jake?" Beck asked as a subordinate handed him a box consisting of the detained New Bern man's belongings. Beck briefly riffled through it and saw a Swiss army knife, a wrinkled photograph, and a wallet. He opened the wallet and pulled out an expired driver's license with the man's photograph. Jack Yeargan.

"_Is_ the military moving on?" Jake asked twisting his neck to see the license. The briefest tinge of hope arose within him.

"When our mission is complete."

"Well, if your mission is complete, shouldn't this be a moot point? It'll be our problem, not yours."

"You have a police force of two, no sheriff, and no way of defending yourself."

Jake glared at Beck, unappreciative of the fact that the major was divulging this information in front of the New Bern man. Though the thought did then occur to him that the man was probably all too aware of the conditions in Jericho.

"We were doing just fine," Tony Schubert contributed.

Beck glanced in Tony's direction. It was clear the man owed loyalty to Jake and was trying to honor that loyalty, but enough was enough. "With all due respect, you were getting your clocks cleaned. You were outgunned and outmanned. These retaliatory missions aren't going to end overnight, but they will end. On both sides."

Another pronouncement from Edward Beck. Jake fought the urge to roll his eyes. Just because Major Beck declared it was to be so didn't mean that it actually was. What had been settled between their towns? Absolutely nothing. Phil Constantino was still in New Bern, surrounded by his minions, albeit under house arrest. Who knew what influence he still wielded?

Jake's harsh gaze fell upon the man from New Bern who listened to the conversation but contributed nothing. "Are you one of Constantino's men, Yeargan? Is that why Heather recognized you?" Moving quickly, Jake grabbed the collar of the man's shirt, pulling him slightly off his seat.

And nearly as swiftly, Edward Beck pulled Jake away from Yeargan. Jake looked angrily at the shorter man, and Beck lifted his forefinger, pointing at Jake, his tolerance sorely tested. "Back off."

Jack Yeargan's face contorted , hatred and grief mingling on his features, as he finally spoke. "This man," he spat out as he lifted his bound hands and pointing at Tony Schubert, "killed my brother four weeks ago."

The blood drained from Tony's face. He was computer expert, not a soldier, but the other man's words sank in. Four weeks ago, their towns had fought against one another, both struggling to survive, whatever the outcome may be. He'd never thought himself to be a fighter, never had any aspirations to be, but fate had intervened, and Tony had been willing to do whatever it took to defend his town and keep his family safe. It was entirely possible that he had killed this man's brother.

Tony leaned against a nearby desk, his legs feeling wobbly under him. "I—I don't know what to say."

Jack Yeargan's eyes narrowed. "There is nothing you can say that I want to hear. What I do want is to see your blood spill, just like you spilled Tom's."

Beck intervened, looking at the New Bern man, though his words could be equally applied to Jake's situation, as well. "There were losses on both sides. That's what happens in battle. You choose your fight, and you live with the consequences." There was nothing glorious about it; perhaps at one point in his youth, Beck might've considered war to be, but he'd seen too much in his seventeen year career to ever feel that cavalier, that foolish, again.

Beck motioned to two soldiers. "Take him to the holding cell until I decide what to do with him."

"Yes, Sir!" the soldiers replied in unison before flanking either side of the detainee, forcing him to stand, and then walking him out of the room.

Jake turned to Tony and felt for the man. He wasn't a murderer. Six months ago, the man had never even held a gun. Jake was the one who had taught him to shoot. "You okay?"

Schubert nodded, hesitantly at first then with more assurance. "Yeah. That was…surreal."

"Why don't you go find Marnie? She's got to be wondering about you. I'll handle things from here," Jake offered.

Tony nodded numbly. How was he ever going to tell his wife the reason Jack Yeargan wanted him dead?

Beck watched the interaction between the two men. The respect Tony Schubert had for Jake Green was evident. Jake had leadership skills, Beck noted, and had displayed those skills on more than one occasion. "Tony, watch your back," he said as Schubert slowly left the room. "Jake, stick around. We need to talk."

Jake bristled slightly at Beck's brusque commands. He didn't like being addressed as though he were one of the major's underlings. His brows furrowed as he met the major's gaze.

Major Beck didn't beat around the bush. "Gray Anderson and I spoke yesterday."

"What do you want? An award or something?"

Beck ignored Jake's verbal jab. "Your name came up."

This caught Jake's attention. "Why?"

"I want your assurance of discretion."

"You and Gray Anderson were talking about me, and you're concerned about _my _discretion?" Jake retorted as he crossed his arms.

"Fair enough," Beck replied. "I told you earlier Jericho would have a military presence until our mission is accomplished."

"And I nearly offered to help you pack your bags." _Tone it down. This might be your chance to get an in with Beck the way Hawkins wanted. _

"I need your help, Jake. I have reason to believe that a terrorist is at large either in or near Jericho."

Jake's heart pounded. How close was Beck to putting together the pieces of Hawkins's involvement with the attacks? _Keep your cool, Green. Get Beck to talk. Find out what he knows._ "What does this have to do with me?"

"You know better than anyone else what goes on around here. People come to you. Tell you things."

"And you think someone came up to me and admitted to being a terrorist? Why would a terrorist come _here_, of all places?"

"Why not? Jericho has working farms, a salt mine, a safe water supply, and isn't in a fallout zone. It seems to me that Jericho would be a very ideal place for someone to set down roots."

Jake threw Beck his best 'unconvinced' look. "What does this has to do with the conversation you had with Gray Anderson?"

"Mayor Anderson mentioned someone to me, a Robert Hawkins. Do you know him?"

"Sure I do. Jericho's a small town. But Hawkins and his family left shortly after the war."

"Have you heard from him?"

"No."

"Any idea where he went?"

"Before he left, he mentioned something about his wife Darcy having relatives in Texas."

"And you think that's where they went?"

"I have no reason to think otherwise. Why the questions about Robert Hawkins?"

"Mayor Anderson told me that Mr. Hawkins was an FBI agent and that you and Jimmy Taylor investigated him for possible ties to terrorism. You and I both know the terrorists apprehended in New York City were carrying phony FBI badges."

Jake sucked in a breath. Did Gray Anderson ever stop talking long enough to let his brain catch up with his mouth? "Yeah. We investigated. I believe Hawkins is the real deal."

"And you know this because—"

"Call it a gut feeling. That, and the fact that his FBI badge was heavy." Beck raised a brow. "Let's just say I've had occasion to get up close and personal with the FBI before."

"So an FBI agent just happens to show right before the attacks crippled our country? Damn strange coincidence, don't you think?"

"Life is stranger than fiction. If ever there was any doubt, the last six months should've erased it."

"So you don't think Robert Hawkins had anything to do with the attacks?"

Jake shook his head. "I don't see a connection. Though if you know something I don't, shouldn't you be on your way to Texas about now?"

Beck began to speak, then thought better of it. "What you did out there today on Main Street was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid."

Jake cleared his throat. "That sounds like something my father would've said."

"I've heard a considerable amount about your father."

Jake frowned. "From Gray?" Jake could only imagine what Gray would have to say.

"No. From others. Jimmy Taylor, for one. I've been told he cared for this town a great deal."

"You've been told right."

"And I see that same quality in his sons. You don't have to like the fact I'm here, Jake. _I_ don't like the fact I'm here. But I'm not going away, not until my job is done. I'm asking for your help. You handled yourself well out there today—and from all accounts, this isn't the first time you've proven yourself under pressure."

"You're asking for my help?"

"I am. This town needs a sheriff."

Jake nearly snorted. "Me? A sheriff? The extent of my experience with law enforcement has been on the other side of the law."

"I'm well aware of that. I am also aware that the people here respect you in a way that they do not respect me. It would be better for all involved if someone from Jericho could take on more of the law enforcement responsibilities. It would be the first step in diminishing the military presence here."

"I need to think about this," Jake replied calmly, though on the inside his mind was racing. This was the in that Hawkins had wanted him to find, and it was falling perfectly into his lap. Nevertheless, being too eager might arouse the major's suspicions.

"I understand. Just don't take too long."

* * *

Some time later, Heather found herself at the appliance store in search of replacements for the heating elements. Much to her chagrin, she quickly discovered that free trade was not alive and well. The store operated on what Mr. Steele, the proprietor, explained as the Buffalo Credit system. While the new federal government in Cheyenne was working toward printing and distributing new monies, a credit system based on vouchers from the Allied States Federal Reserve care of Jennings and Rall was being implemented.

"Are you sure I can't trade something for these, Mr. Steele? I don't have much, but I could offer my repair services periodically."

The mustached man with the salt-and-pepper hair shook his head mournfully. "I wish I could help you, Heather. The condition of my store getting back on its feet was that I wouldn't barter. Cheyenne wants my cooperation with this new money system they're working out. They feel that bartering undermines it."

"Isn't there something I can do?" Heather pleaded.

"You can do what a lot of other people are doing. Go to Jennings and Rall. They can get you set up with the Buffalo Credit." Mr. Steele could see her hesitation. "Or," he added, with his voice lowered, "you might try Dale Turner over at Gracie Leigh's. I don't know how he does it, but he comes up with all kinds of obscure things. Who knows? He may have your heating elements."

Heather nodded. "Thanks. I'll try that."

She left and headed straight for Gracie Leigh's. As she approached the store, she could see that it wasn't quite what she remembered. No longer did the outer windows feature advertisements for Duncan Hines cake mix or Aunt Jemina syrup. Rather, posters hung advertising ammunition, firewood, and grain.

As she entered, she noted two security guards who stood near the entrance. _These are Dale's guards_, she realized. _My how times have changed._

Though she never had Dale Turner as a student, Jericho Elementary, Jericho Middle, and Jericho High were housed on the same campus. Heather made it a point to learn the names of every child she could, particularly those who seemed isolated on the playground. Dale had been about twelve or thirteen when Heather began teaching at the elementary school, but the curly haired boy pulled at Heather's heartstrings. He was smaller than the other kids his age, he didn't have a father in his life, and he had always seemed out of place. The other kids seemed to sense his vulnerability and preyed on that.

Heather remembered a conversation she once had with her father.

"_Be nice to everyone, Heather," Matthew Lisinski told his twelve year old daughter as he pulled his reverend's collar from his shirt._

"_I know, Dad, because God wants us to treat others with kindness. Rule Number 8: Treat others the way you want to be treated."_

"_That—and someday, that person you're mean to might become your boss." His blue eyes twinkled, and Heather laughed._

Heather couldn't help but wonder how many young people in town were wishing they had treated Dale with more respect.

As Heather surveyed the store, she noticed a slew of miscellaneous items. A few cans of soda were in the refrigerated case. Only a few aisles over, she saw antifreeze and car batteries.

"Ms. Lisinski?"

Heather turned and saw Dale Turner. He looked older than she remembered, but she could still see remnants of the little boy she befriended years ago. "Dale!"

Dale hugged her lightly. "I'd heard you were back."

"Word travels fast. I just got back yesterday."

"Skylar is going to be floored," he commented. "Did you just stop in to say hi, or were you looking for something in particular?"

"A little bit of both," Heather replied. "I'm trying to repair a hot water heater, and I need some heating elements. You don't happen to have any, do you?"

He shook his head. "I've got a couple for an electric oven, but that's it."

"They work on the same principle, but they won't be the right size."

"Have you tried over at the Appliance Mart?" Dale asked.

Heather nodded ruefully. "Two words: Buffalo Credit."

"Enough said. Give me a few days, and I'll see what I can come up with. I can't promise anything, though."

"Thanks for trying," Heather replied.

Dale paused. "You might try the junk yard. Maybe there's something out there you can use that isn't picked over."

Heather smiled. "One man's trash is another man's treasure. I hadn't thought of that. Thanks, Dale."

* * *

Walking was becoming a way of life for Heather. She found herself enjoying the fresh spring air and the familiar sights. She decided to heed Dale's advice and walk to the junk yard, which was about a mile outside of town.

On her way, she found herself passing Jericho Elementary. Unable to resist, she ducked into the building. Walking through the hallways felt surreal. Children's art work hung on the walls, even after all the time that had passed. During the week of the bombs, they had been celebrating Dr. Seuss Week. The teachers and children had decorated their doors with Dr. Seuss themed drawings and cut-outs. She noticed the Green Eggs and Ham on Mrs. Thompson's door and a half-taped Cat in the Hat on Mrs. Leimer's door. Heather's classroom door theme had been _The Butter Battle Book_. The irony was not lost on Heather as she remembered that Dr. Seuss wrote that children's book as an allegory for nuclear war.

Heather felt a lump in her throat as she approached her own classroom. She never imagined she'd be back. She stood trying to gather her wits about her. Finally, she grabbed the door knob and turned it.

Walking inside, she saw her room was just as she'd left it. Twenty little desks were situated in the room, along with bean bags in the reading corner. One of the bulletin boards featured photographs of her students' heads on Dr. Seuss characters' bodies. She studied each of their smiling faces and prayed a silent prayer that wherever they were, they were still smiling.

Heather walked to her desk and settled in her chair. She'd spent little time there during the day, largely because she adhered to the adage that "a teacher on her feet is worth two teachers in her seat," but this desk and chair was where she'd spent many an hour brainstorming lesson plans, grading papers, and writing grant proposals for the scores of field trips and extra materials she wanted for her students.

Heather opened the desk drawer and found a tube of Chapstick, a stick of antiperspirant, a pack of gum, and a powder compact. _Little treasures_. She wondered what else she could dig up. She walked 

to the closet and nearly squealed with delight when she saw bags of clothes. Some were what she would term rather ratty—older clothes she brought to school when her students did artwork involving paint. Still, she did happen upon an attractive azure colored sleeveless turtleneck shell and matching sweater, a black woolen pencil skirt, and black high-heeled shoes. She vaguely remembered having worn those to school for Renaissance Day, but she'd changed into the Renaissance costume that Haley Simmons's mother made for the occasion and had gone home in costume instead.

Heather held the high heeled shoes up by their straps. She never had been much of a shoe fiend, but seeing them gave Heather a small thrill. Not that she was certain when she'd have the opportunity to wear such a thing as high-heeled shoes again, there was just something about actually owning a pair. Her shoes, not someone else's.

She gathered the bags, along with the few items from her desk. She knew she could spend hours in the classroom, lost in memories. Perhaps she would do that on another day. For now, though, something else was more pressing.

Heather headed out of Jericho Elementary and was crossing the grounds when she heard someone calling her name.

_Emily._

Heather stopped. She wasn't sure what their conversation would entail, but she owed her friend that much.

"Hey."

"Hi!" Emily awkwardly hugged Heather. "I was over here going through my materials and thought I saw you through my window." She was slightly out of breath. "I rushed out here as fast as I could."

"About last night—" Heather nervously bit her bottom lip.

Emily groaned, interrupting her friend. "God, Heather, I'm sorry. If I could take back that whole stupid conversation, I would. I didn't mean to get you caught in the middle of what's going on with Jake and me."

"What _is_ going on with you and Jake?" Heather asked.

"Same thing that's been going on most of our lives," Emily replied. "Can you sit down for a few minutes? Get caught up?"

Heather thought of the hot water heater elements, but pushed that thought aside. Sitting down with a friend she'd not seen in the last four months was more important. "Sure. Playground benches?"

"Sounds like a plan," Emily agreed.

The two walked to the playground, but its familiar appearance seemed wrong to Heather. Mostly, she figured, it was because there were no children on the equipment and an eerie quiet met them instead. Heather's eyes focused on the merry-go-round that remained empty. An absurd thought occurred to her. Before the bombs, her principal had been considering removing that particular piece of playground equipment. _Too dangerous_, she'd commented. Strange how a merry-go-round quickly became the least of their worries for the children.

"Did you sleep okay last night?" Emily asked. "First night back, and you didn't even get to stay in your own bed."

Heather frowned. Emily's tone was sympathetic but made her feel uneasy nonetheless. After the spectacle at Bailey's the night before and Emily offering Jake to trade Kenchy for her, the issue of the living arrangements was still touchy. That, and the fact that her own bed didn't even exist anymore added to her disquiet. "It was fine. Gail has me in Eric's old room."

Emily chuckled to herself lightly. "Oh, God! Those walls were always so paper thin. When Jake and I were in high school, he'd sneak me into his room. I became quite good at climbing the trellis in the backyard."

Heather was fairly certain the trellis had since been removed, as she had not noticed it when she'd looked at the backyard, but she said nothing.

Emily continued with a waggle of her eyebrows, "Eric would get so mad because he'd hear us in there and couldn't sleep. He'd knock on the wall and threaten to tell their parents that I was with Jake. Johnston and Gail were progressive parents in many ways, but _that_ was not one of the ways."

Heather said nothing. Why was Emily telling her this? They'd spent a great deal of time together, but their friendship never extended to discussing what went on in the bedroom when Emily was dating Roger. Frankly, Heather wasn't comfortable with it. Some things were just _private_. But Emily talking about Jake, even if it was years ago, set Heather on edge.

"Heather?" Emily asked, shaking her from her thoughts.

Heather looked at Emily and managed a small, almost pained smile. "I'm sorry. I was off in my own little world."

"I guess I was, too," Emily replied, a smile playing upon her lips as she could almost see the past before her eyes. "Those were really happy times when life was deliciously uncomplicated. So you're back now, and it's been awhile."

"True. So how have you been?" Heather asked eager to steer the conversation away from herself.

"That was going to be my question for you!" Emily scolded gently. "But, since you asked…" She made a face as she answered. "Well, I fought in a war, have been told by Jennings and Rall that the way I 

teach history is wrong, my father is still a delinquent bastard—no big surprise there—and I've been having major cravings for ice cream with none in sight."

"What flavor?" Heather deadpanned.

Emily looked at her friend in disbelief and then burst into a fit of giggles. Only Heather could listen to a list consisting of gloom and doom pronouncements and focus on the ice cream. "I've missed you Heather."

Heather squeezed her friend's hand. "I've missed you, too, Em." She paused, thinking of the cumbersome list of life events her friend had just shared. "I'm sorry things haven't gotten better with your dad."

Emily shrugged, pushing the image of Jonah Prowse from her mind. "I'm used to it. I should've learned my lesson by now anyway. If you don't expect much, you won't get hurt." That wasn't entirely true, Emily conceded to herself, but to acknowledge that her father's actions hurt her would be to give him power over her life, and that wasn't something she would willingly do again. "You don't know how lucky you are to have had a normal family."

Heather wasn't entirely sure she believed in 'normal.' Most people would have considered her upbringing to be somewhat atypical in that from her early teen years, it was just her dad, her, and, oh, about three hundred parishioners. Living in the small house adjacent to the church building where her father preached lent itself to little privacy, as members of the congregation called upon Matthew Lisinski for guidance and support at all hours of the day or night. With that said, Heather never doubted how incredibly fortunate she had been to be born into a supportive family.

Heather took a deep breath, a worried look crossing her fair features. "So can I ask you something without you thinking I'm strange?"

Emily shook her head. "Fat chance. I already think you're strange."

"Must be why you missed me."

"What did you want to know?" Emily asked getting back to Heather's original query.

Heather bit her lip, suddenly wondering if she should ask and if she truly wanted an answer. She thought about prefacing her question with levity in the form of 'I've been dying to ask someone,' but decided against it considering the real losses Jericho had sustained, including the loss of Jake and Eric's father. "Did I—did I have a funeral?" Her blue eyes were wide with curiosity, albeit morbid curiosity.

"No body to bury," Emily pointed out. "Truthfully, the time between when we heard you were 'dead' and when the fighting with New Bern started wasn't very long." Emily's eyes surveyed her friend. Heather looked the same, minus the weight loss. Then again, most everyone had lost some weight. Yet there was something about Heather that was different; only Emily couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. 

"So what _did_ happen to you, Heather? When I asked you last night, you gave me a really lame response about touring northern Kansas and southern Nebraska."

Heather felt foolish. This was the very subject she wanted to avoid, but she'd incited it with her pointless question about whether she'd had a funeral. "I went to New Bern, worked in a factory, tried to blow up the factory, was arrested, escaped, was found by the military, and finally returned to Jericho." There. She'd told her story—and in one breath, at that. That should be enough. Right?

"Okay. Now don't go overboard with the details or anything…"

Heather exhaled loudly. "I'm sorry, Em. I just—" she broke off, uncertain of where she was going with her statement. "I guess there are just some things that are better left unsaid."

Emily nodded knowingly. She could appreciate Heather's stance, even if she wished her friend were being more forthcoming. Emily had to acknowledge that she expected a few questions to come her way that she didn't particularly want to field either. "So what do you have here?" Emily's eyes fell upon the bags sitting at Heather's feet.

"Treasures," Heather replied with a small smile. She pulled a paint splattered FHSU Tigers t-shirt from one of the bags. "Who'd have thought, right?"

"That one's seen better days," Emily remarked, noticing the paint under the tiger's nose gave the impression of a rather peculiar mustache.

"Well, at least it's not charred! I guess I can't be too picky, but I did find something mildly worthwhile," Heather replied as she pulled out her high heeled shoes.

Emily chuckled. "I remember when you bought those! I take credit! It was a dare from me, remember? You wanted to get those little black shoes with the buckles."

Heather joined Emily in laughing. "And you wanted me to live a little."

"The ones you picked made you look like a Puritan," Emily replied, her voice full of disapproval.

Heather held up the strappy shoes by the crook of her forefinger. "These are, by the way, completely unsuited for teaching third graders. I learned that the hard way."

"But they look good," Emily pointed out. "Maybe you can wear them next time you see that young lieutenant."

Heather pulled back in surprise. "You know about that?"

"Come on, Heather. I was there." True enough, but Heather hadn't thought Emily was paying her much attention once she left Jake and Emily to hash out their differences. Emily continued, "_Everybody_ knows. Have you been gone so long that you've forgotten how Jericho works?"

Heather felt her face grow warm. She wasn't sure why it bothered her that people were discussing her life. Better they grasp onto the dance she had with Hamilton than the dance she had with Jake. If Emily had heard any talk about _that_, she'd certainly not let on. Emily had nothing in the world to worry about, Heather knew, but gossip had a way of distorting events, much as seen through a carnival's hall of mirrors.

"So what's this about you getting your materials together and Jennings and Rall trying to tell you how to teach?" Heather asked changing the topic. "Does this mean school is reopening soon?"

Emily exhaled loudly, her teasing about Heather and the soldier briefly forgotten. "That's the big question, isn't it? I think it's going to take some type of mandate to get the kids back in school, to be honest with you. Gray's not really been on top of that, though. Maybe once growing and harvesting is over and the kids have too much time on their hands…But going back to your question about Jennings and Rall, they've sent over new teaching materials, including textbooks, which completely rewrite the history of the twentieth century and the years leading up to the attacks. Essentially, they've retooled textbooks to discuss the fall of the United States, that it was weakness and corruption that led to the attacks."

Heather's brows furrowed. "How did they get the textbooks written and printed so quickly?"

Emily's jaw clenched. "Another good question. You know this from serving on textbook committees, same as I do. It takes _years_ to research and write textbooks. Revisions from one edition to the next take months and months. It's almost as if someone had this textbook ready and waiting."

Emily's words weighed on Heather, who shifted in her seat and crossed her legs. Heather was suddenly feeling uncomfortable as disconcerting theories began to invade her mind. _What if….? No. _No_. Surely not_. She tried to push them aside. "So what are you going to do?"

Emily shook her head vehemently, her blonde curls cascading over her shoulders. "I won't teach it, Heather. Of course, if we can't get the kids to school, it'll be a moot point anyway."

"A lot has changed around here," Heather said softly. "A man from New Bern nearly gunned down Tony Schubert on Main Street earlier today. Six months ago, something like that would never have happened." Her thoughts drifted to the military presence. From what she'd gathered, the soldiers had been positioned at checkpoints along the roads leading into Jericho. How had this man managed to make his way past them? What did this say about the safety of their town?

Emily sighed. "Wouldn't be the first time. The war ended, not because anything was actually settled, but because the military showed up and got into a pissing match with us. Their guns were bigger, and they would've taken us out if we didn't stand down. Same for New Bern."

"What do you make of Major Beck?" Heather asked thinking of the no-nonsense man she'd met the day before. She remembered the confidence in which he moved, his perfect posture, the strength in his dark eyes, and the aura of professionalism he exuded.

"The jury's still out," Emily replied. "I know his men respect him, and I'm pretty sure it's about more than the insignia on his uniform. Jake—well, Jake's not so convinced. He doesn't think Beck is doing enough to get to the bottom of what went on between us and New Bern…"

Heather looked up at the sky and pursed her lips so tightly they turned white. She would have to do it. She would have to tell everything, if for no other reason than to insure that Phil Constantino never saw the light of day again.

"…But I think Jake will only be satisfied once there's either a bullet between Constantino's eyes or a noose around his neck."

Heather swallowed hard. If she could do this for Jake and Eric, it would be worth it, whatever the consequences she would face. "I wasn't here when—when the war broke out, when Mayor Green was killed, but I heard he died before the last battle. How did Jake and Eric go on?"

"They had no choice," Emily replied simply. "It was us or them, Heather. Jake funneled his anger and grief into that battle. Eric…" Emily paused, not really sure what to say about Jake's brother. They'd known each other practically their entire lives, but she wasn't really sure how Johnston's death had affected him. To Emily, he was Eric, business as usual.

Heather looked at Emily expectantly, hoping to hear some information that would put her mind at ease about her friend. When she and Eric had been imprisoned together in New Bern, they'd discussed their families at length. The closeness they shared with their fathers had been one of the things she and Eric had in common. Eric had told her, more than once, how important his father was to him, how Johnston Green was the type of man Eric aspired to be. Heather wondered about the wisdom of Eric building his own existence upon that of his father's expectations and wishes, but to Eric, it was natural.

Emily's explanation went back to Jake, leaving the issue of Eric untouched. "But Jake took it really hard, I guess because there were so many years when they weren't on speaking terms. Jake had so many regrets. The one good thing to come from all of this is it made us realize how much time we had wasted."

Heather tilted her head. "So you and Jake have only been back together for a _month_?" This tidbit of information was fascinating to Heather, perhaps more fascinating than it should have been. She had assumed Jake and Emily had been together much longer, that perhaps it was their reunion that prompted Roger to leave town. But it had only been a month? Four measly weeks? So what was it that drew them back together? Comfort? Familiarity? Grief?

Emily's eyes narrowed somewhat as she heard the disbelief in her friend's tone. "It wasn't just about grief, us getting back together."

Heather's face colored somewhat. It was as though Emily had read her thoughts.

"It's more than that," Emily continued insistently as her blue eyes sought Heather's. Her tone softened, "I wouldn't want to hurt you for anything in the world, but Jake is the man that I'm going to marry, Heather."

Heather tried to pull together a coherent sentence in response, even if only a polite platitude, but she was caught up in a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. She looked at the merry-go-round, and felt she must have been on it, for her head was spinning and the world going by too quickly. Jake and Emily were getting married?

_Get yourself together, Heather. You will not say anything to discourage your friend. She deserves happiness and your well wishes. Jake deserves happiness. He's lost so much; he needs your support in this, not your doubts._

_But the ache that filled Heather's very soul made the words impossible to form. _

Heather nervously picked at the skin on the side of her thumb. "I'm just really lost here, Em," she began, her thoughts finding voice. "Nothing is the same! What happened here? Where is Roger?" In the time Heather had known Emily, her friend had been completely absorbed in the incredibly devoted and handsome, if not mildly stuffy, investment banker. Roger Hammond had returned to Jericho after literally walking hundreds of miles and seeing unspeakable things. He emerged as a leader among the refugees, a man changed by his experiences, but whose compassion and courage had grown. When she'd left for New Bern, she thought for certain that she'd be coming back for a wedding between Roger and Emily, not between Jake and Emily. _New Bern. Always New Bern._ "How did things escalate between Jericho and New Bern? Why aren't there kids on this playground? They should be in school! And you never even _mentioned_ Jake to me before he came back to town, and now suddenly…"

Emily shook her head. "There's nothing sudden about it." Her words sounded sharper than she intended. Steadying herself through the long breath she took, Emily added, "I want to tell you everything. I do. I just—I don't want you to hate me, to think I'm a bad person."

"Em, I could never think you're a bad person," Heather replied. "I just—I just want to understand."

"When you and I met, Jake had been gone for a year, and that had been the hardest year of my life. I didn't talk about him because it was too hard, Heather. He—he was everything to me, my whole existence was wrapped around his. I know that isn't politically correct and I'm sure somewhere in there, I've taken a step back for the women's lib movement, but he was my everything. My identity was so tied to him. My past was tied to him, and I thought my future was, as well. And then he was gone."

"You two had a bad break up?"

Emily coughed slightly. "Bad? There isn't even a word. There's a lot about Jake you don't know, Heather."

Heather frowned. Emily had tried to warn her before that Jake was dangerous, that there was more to him than met the eye, but at the time, she'd glibly brushed aside Emily's admonition. Now that her friend was opening up, Heather was hungry for the information, good or bad, that would help her to better understand Jake Green.

"Jake worked for my father," Emily began, watching Heather's blue eyes widen. Heather had known that there was a connection between Jake and Jonah Prowse, but she'd assumed their only connection had been Emily. "He graduated from school, came back to Jericho for the summer, and my dear old dad offered him a job." Her tone became bitter. "I was grateful at the time. It meant it would keep him close to me. And the summer job extended into fall and then into winter and then into summer again. Jake and I lived together in a small house on Fascination Street, and I think it was the best time in my life. He was wild and reckless, but so was I.

"And then one day, Jonah wanted Jake to go as backup for a job my brother was doing. Just to keep Chris safe. That's all Jonah was asking. When Jake realized the job was a robbery, he bailed on Chris, and my brother was shot to death all because Jake didn't have his back."

Tears spilled down Emily's cheeks. "And then he bailed on me. He couldn't take the aftermath, but I was left picking up the pieces. I hated him for letting Chris die. I hated him for leaving me when I needed him most. But most of all, I hated myself for still loving him."

Emily closed her eyes and remembered throwing Jake's clothes from the second story bedroom window of their house, his t-shirts and jeans littering the yard. He had tried to reason with her and had been met instead with Emily hurling anything and everything at him that she could get her hands on. Emily recalled how the corner of a book she'd thrown caught him above his eyebrow and made him bleed. She had been so furious, so out of her mind, she had taken delight in making him feel the tiniest semblance of the pain she felt at the time. She recalled beating her fists against his chest, shouting at the top of her lungs when he'd told her of his involvement in Chris's death, how she wished him dead instead of her baby brother. She demanded that he leave, over and over, she demanded it of him. Yet when he did leave, she hadn't expected it.

Heather found her own eyes welling with tears, sorrow for Emily's loss and immense sadness for Jake, as well. This incident separated him from everyone he knew and loved. Yet Heather simply could not reconcile the Jake that Emily described with the Jake she knew. Jake Green was one of the most fearless people she'd ever met. For him to just turn tail and run didn't make any sense. "I just can't believe Jake would run out on you like that, Em. It doesn't sound like him."

Emily opened her eyes and looked her friend over, partly feeling sorry for her friend for being so blindly naïve and partly feeling sorry for herself that she didn't have that same blind faith in people anymore. "You don't know Jake, or at least, the Jake he used to be."

Emily's words hit Heather like a ton of bricks. What did she know of Jake? Only that he made her heart alternately race and fill with laughter, only that he had to be the bravest man—often to a fault—that she'd ever met, only that despite what Emily had said, she trusted him completely. "Then why…?"

"I had time, Heather. I had time to sort through my life, to settle down. I had time to put things in perspective. You really helped me. I guess you didn't know that, but you did." Emily remembered how tentative they'd both been at the new teacher orientation.

"And you showed the new girl the ropes around Jericho. I would've been incredibly alone if not for you."

"Roger helped me, too," Emily said, her expression softening. "He was the complete opposite of Jake. Very smooth around the edges, successful, and sure of what he wanted. And he wanted me. With all my faults, with all my demons, he wanted me. He promised me he'd never leave, and I believed him."

"Where is he, Emily?"

"He left," she replied simply. "He chose the refugees over me, and he left."

Heather's brows furrowed. What Emily was saying didn't make sense. "When I asked Jake if you and Roger had gotten married, he told me that Roger had to leave. He didn't make it sound like a choice."

The playground around Emily melted, and she was once again in town hall with Roger and Gray, the two men arguing over the refugees. And then there was the gun shot. Roger looked at her in shock and panic as Gray crumpled to the floor. Emily knew at that moment everything had changed.

"We all have choices, Heather."

"And Jake?"

"I chose to forgive him for what happened with Chris, for leaving. When I did, it was like coming home again, and I was swept away by those old feelings."

Heather wondered if Jake knew how much Emily was staking on their relationship. It made her uncomfortable, just as she felt troubled that Emily could transfer her feelings from Roger back to Jake so quickly.

She needed to get away and needed time to sort through the onslaught of information Emily had given her. "Look, I still have to get over to the junk yard."

"Looking for clothes there?" Emily teased.

Heather's grip around her bag tightened and the muscles in her body went rigid. "Ha, ha," her voice decidedly lacking in good humor as she uttered her words. "Actually, I'm looking for heating coils for a hot water heater. I already tried the Appliance Mart and Dale. No luck yet."

"You've been in town only a day and you're already fixing things?"

"What can I say? There are things that need to be fixed. Mr. Steele offered to let me use Buffalo Credits, but I am not really sure about those. I'd really prefer not to owe the new government anything. Hence my trip to the junk yard."

Emily raised a brow. "Good luck with that."

Heather rose to leave. "Well, I'll see you around, Emily."

"See you, Heather," Emily replied. Heather had walked a few yards when Emily called out to her. "Hey, are we okay?"

Were they? Heather felt drained emotionally and physically; their conversation had taken its toll. She'd gotten more insight into Emily and Jake's relationship than she wanted, quite frankly. And all their conversation had done was raise more questions in Heather's mind, none of which made her comfortable.

"Are we?" Emily repeated.

"Yeah."

But as Heather turned and continued on her way, she felt like a liar.

_to be continued..._


	11. Chapter 9C

**Author's Note:** This chapter does contain profanity and mild sexual references.

**Chapter Nine, Part C: "Pretenses"**

The strong odor of gasoline filled Jake's nostrils as he tilted the gas can, making certain its nozzle was still properly inserted into the gas tank of Heather's truck. The truck—Charlotte, she called it—was rickety by even today's standards, but it was a source of pride for Heather. Jake thought it must've been a testament to her mechanical abilities and her devotion. Who else could've kept it running for so long with so little?

Most people were still walking everywhere they went, but Jake figured Heather was owed a favor or two. After all, someone did siphon the gas from Charlotte at some point during Heather's absence.

"Thank God. If I had to look at that monstrosity for one more day…" Gray Anderson muttered as he walked to his vehicle, a newer model Cadillac, parked several spots over in the small parking lot behind town hall. The Cadillac stuck out like a sore thumb in a town where the only newer vehicles in use were those brought in by Jennings and Rall or the military.

It was obvious to Jake where Gray had gotten the car. What wasn't obvious was where Gray's loyalties lay. Gray Anderson had been willing to give Phil Constantino and New Bern several of Jericho's outlying farms as a form of appeasement before the New Bern War. To hell with the farming families who'd in many cases owned the land for generations. He was willing to deal with the devil, and everyone had been burned for it. Jake had hoped that Gray learned from those experiences, but now Gray was practically in bed with the military and J&R.

Jake set the gas can down and approached Gray quickly as the taller man opened the door to his vehicle and got in. Gray didn't see him coming and was putting the key in the ignition when Jake tapped on window. "Hold up, Gray. We need to have a talk."

Gray could hear him through the window, hesitated for a moment, and then turned his key to power the window switch. With the touch of a button, the window slid down in compliance. "If it's not you, it's the other," Gray glowered, the wrinkles between his eyebrows becoming more pronounced. Why couldn't anyone named Green just let him have a moment's peace? It had gotten so bad, that even the mere mention of anything green—green beans, turnip greens, Green Street, the ugly green monster his ex-wife once accused him of being—made him think of Johnston Green's brood.

"Get your head out of your ass long enough to listen," Jake replied, his teeth clenched.

Gray swallowed hard and blinked several times, momentarily stunned to silence.

Jake placed his arm against the car and leaned his head into the opening for the window. His voice was low, but his tone harsh. "Stop giving information to the military about what's gone on here in Jericho. Beck doesn't need to know any of the 'private' ins or outs of our town—" Jake began, thinking of the less obvious entrances and exits to town, "and he sure as hell doesn't need to know about its citizens."

"What are you talking about?" Gray asked, exasperation filling his voice.

"Decide whose side you're on, and use your brain. I heard about your conversation with Beck."

"How?" Gray asked.

"Beck told me."

"Then you also know why the military is here. We've got to do what we can to help them find this terrorist, Jake. If someone is out there with another nuke—someone here in Jericho—just think what could…."

"Wait a second. What's this about another nuclear weapon?" Jake hissed. The package, Hawkins and Jake called it, seemed safe so long as nobody knew. And now? If they weren't careful, Gray was going to broadcast its existence to the whole town. And how did Beck know about it? Naturally the major hadn't said anything about it to Jake. Likely Beck didn't trust Jake with the information. But he trusted Gray? That was laughable.

"I wasn't supposed to say anything," Gray mumbled as he leaned back against the head rest. A loud sigh escaped from him.

"Do us both a favor, Gray. Keep your mouth busy kissing babies, not running it off. Or do you want to set everyone off into a panic?"

"That's a rich how-do-you-do!" Gray huffed. "The only reason I stuck my neck out in the first place was because Eric came to me rambling about Potsie Come To Us or somethingerother. He practically begged me to ask questions of Beck, and here you are getting all pissy because I did. Why don't you just back off and let me do my job? Now get out of my window, or I'll roll you up in it and you'll be running down the street trying to keep up with the car."

Jake glared at Gray. "Look at the big picture," he urged, his voice gravelly. He backed away from the Cadillac.

Gray said nothing, instead putting the car into reverse and pulling out of the parking spot.

Had his words sunk in with Gray? Jake couldn't be sure. The only thing he could be sure of was that Gray evoked in him the strong desire to punch something. At one time, that something probably would've been Gray's face—and someday it still might be—but for now, _for now _Jake had to content himself with clenching his fists.

What was Eric thinking? Why would he enlist Gray's help? Gray Anderson of all people?

Jake walked back to the truck and resumed pouring the fuel into the tank. Part of Jake wondered whether the old truck had enough life left in it to start again; he hoped it did for Heather's sake. He didn't want her to face more disappointment. Of course, knowing Heather, she'd probably look at it as an opportunity to get her hands dirty and delve right into the repair work.

"Hey."

Jake looked up and saw Emily approaching, her hands in the pockets of the blue jean jacket she wore and her hair blowing lightly in the wind. She was stunning. Even when they were twelve years old, he'd thought so, though stunning probably wasn't the word he would have used back then.

It was always easy to look at Emily; it just wasn't always easy to be with Emily.

A small smile curled on her lips, and Jake knew he should return it, but he couldn't. "Hey."

Emily walked to the side of the truck and leaned against it. "Am I getting the silent treatment?" she asked, her tone playful.

Jake placed the cap on the nozzle of the gas can and set it in the bed of the truck before sealing the gas tank itself. Emily's eyes followed him, watching as his lean muscles became more evident beneath his blue t-shirt as he moved.

"Not exactly," Jake replied. "Just don't know what to say to you right now without causing an argument." He opened the door to the truck and felt around for the spare key, eventually finding it in the glove box.

"Then let me do the talking," she replied before running her teeth along her bottom lip. "I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that last night."

"Or Heather," Jake added.

"Or Heather," Emily conceded. "I know that nothing is going on with the two of you. What I said was petty…and neither of you deserved it. "

No, nothing was going on. Not exactly. He wouldn't do that to Emily—nor would he put Heather in that situation. But last night, he almost had before he came to his senses, before he regained his bearings. He'd hated the thought of Heather dancing with that lieutenant and wanted to be near her, so he'd pushed the envelope by holding her closely as they danced. They'd said little to one another after Emily left, but Jake remembered all too well how it felt to hold Heather close to him, how her body seemed to meld with his, how he'd wanted to drink her in.

"Look, let's just forget it, okay?" Jake responded, irritation creeping into his voice. He couldn't stand to hear her apologize when it would have been so easy…so desirable…to start something with Heather.

Emily's smile fell. His words were what she wanted to hear, but the surliness of his tone would have made her take a step back if not for the truck behind her.

Jake saw the look on her face as he stepped up into the truck and cursed himself silently. "I'm sorry, Em," he replied, his tone softening. "It's not you. I'm not upset with you." _I'm upset with myself. And Eric. And Gray._

"Tell me, Jake," she insisted as she moved closer to the cab, standing to prevent him from closing the rickety door, her hand holding onto the worn upholstered bench.

Jake ignored her. "So what do you think are the chances that this old clunker will actually start?"

Emily looked away, the briefest moment of resignation exhibiting itself in her posture before she bucked up. "Slim to none, but let's make it more interesting. If the truck starts, you come over for dinner tonight. Kenchy and Jessica are both working late shifts at the clinic, and we'll have some peace and quiet."

Jake raised an eyebrow. "And if the truck doesn't start?"

"Then you come over for dinner tonight."

"Oh, a win-win," Jake chuckled as he put the key in the ignition.

Emily felt warmth spread through her at the sound of Jake's laughter. She missed that sound. When they were kids, they used to laugh so much. Well, that and fight. Now it seemed all they did was fight.

Jake turned the key and heard Charlotte's engine begrudgingly turn over before roaring to a start.

"I guess that settles it then. I'll see you at 7:00 p.m. sharp."

"7:00 p.m.," Jake repeated.

"And Jake, don't keep me waiting," she said leaning into the truck to kiss him. Before she could get close enough to him, the truck suddenly sputtered and began to shake. "Better shut it off," Emily said stepping back. "This thing has a mind of its own, and I think it just might be explosive if left idling." She would never understand Heather's devotion to the decrepit piece of junk.

"She just wants to be driven," Jake said before pulling the door closed. Depressing the clutch, he put the truck into reverse and it lurched backward. Moving it into first gear, he pulled out of the parking lot and on his way.

* * *

Emily watched as Jake left, puzzled by his reference to Heather's truck as 'she.' It wasn't like him. Even when he used to fly airplanes, when his eyes used to light up as he recounted his in-air maneuvers, Jake never referred to a plane as though it were a person. No, that sounded more like Heather.

Heather.

Were they okay? Emily had asked, and Heather had told her they were, but Emily had been around Heather long enough to know when her friend was telling her what she wanted to hear. Would 

they be close like they once were? Shouldn't they have just fallen back into their comfortable friendship? She and Roger used to take trips in the summer, and when Emily would return to Jericho and see Heather again, it was as though no time had passed at all. Why was this different?

But as Emily paused to think, she knew. Jake was one thing they had in common and one thing that had the potential to pull them apart. Wasn't that the dichotomy that always troubled her existence? It went back as far as she could remember. Stability and excitement; endearment and lust; forgiveness and rancor. They had all warred within her at some point; still did in many ways. And now she found another dichotomy. More than anything, she wanted her relationship with Jake to be different this time, to actually work out. Maybe then she would be able to let go of the past. She also wanted her friendship with Heather to continue. Heather Lisinski was the first person in Jericho who looked beyond Emily's troubled past, beyond her father's influence, and beyond the stares and whispers.

The look on Heather's face, as well as Heather's staunch defense of Jake, when they discussed his leaving left very little doubt in Emily's mind how Heather felt about him. As Emily began walking down the street, the thought occurred to her that Heather was actually quite lucky that Jake was attached to her and not free for Heather to pursue in her clumsy school girl manner. Jake would eat Heather alive, and she didn't even have a clue.

It was a moot point, anyway. There was no way anything further would develop between them. It had always been JakeandEmily, EmilyandJake. Even when there had been others, this was what they always came back to. This was what they would _always_ come back to. The bombs had changed many things, but not that.

When Emily concentrated, she could still feel Jake's approach on the porch of the Richmonds' farm house and how he backed her against the wall. Jake had just lost his father; Johnston's blood was still on his hands. As they kissed, shortly before going into battle to defend their town, she mused that it very likely would be their last kiss, their last chance to try to put right what had gone so horribly wrong five years before, even if just for a brief instant.

Emily thought their kiss was an ending.

But it wasn't.

They expected to be dead by the end of the day.

But they weren't.

Instead, later that night Emily had found herself against the wall of her bedroom with her legs wrapped around Jake's waist. They reached out to one another and held on for dear life. So why since that moment, had they been going in opposite directions when they had worked so long to find their way back to one another?

She wished she had the answer, but tonight would be a step forward. She was sure of it.

Emily continued walking, stopping when she neared the Jericho Library. Some months ago, she'd had the shock of her life, literally, when the electrical system in town had overloaded, sparking a fire at the library. The building and its contents had been preserved as best as they could until repair work could get underway. Now Emily noted the salvaged books were being taken back inside by the citizen and military work crews that Jennings and Rall had organized, the restoration, completed. It was a symbolic restoration, in many ways, but void of meaning. There were too many people who still lacked the basics. How much use was the library going to get? It bothered Emily, but what could she do?

"Here's a box," a young man said, his voice invading Emily's thoughts. Before she knew it, he was loading a box of books into her arms.

"No, wait," Emily protested as she looked at the soldier on duty who had pushed the box upon her. "I'm not part of the work crew."

The man's hazel eyes twinkled. "You have somethin' more important to do?"

Emily frowned. The truth was she didn't. Not exactly. Then again, she didn't particularly want to be suckered into moving boxes all day long. She had a meal to plan and prepare and some subtle changes she wanted to make around the house, changes that she thought would make Jake more comfortable. "I was on my way somewhere," she managed meagerly.

"Yeah. Stoppin' in your tracks is a surefire way to get there," he replied as he stacked another box on the one she already held. "Those are goin' to the reference section."

The soldier's Southern drawl gave Emily pause as she looked at the name patch on his fatigues: Hamilton.

Realization dawned on her. "I know who you are."

"What a coincidence. So do I." Said in a different tone, his words might have come across as gruff, but he sounded so smooth and friendly, Emily was certain this man could melt honey.

"I saw you last night, dancing with Heather Lisinski."

Hamilton nodded knowingly. He was tempted to reply_, I saw you last night, arguin' with Jake Green_, but opted against it. While true, it wouldn't exactly be gentlemanly. "You're friends."

Emily nodded, the weight of the boxes starting to tire her arms. "_Best._ Look, since I've been put to work, I'm going to set these in the reference section like a good worker." She flashed him a brilliant smile. "When I get back, are you free to talk for a minute or two?"

"Are you free to carry more books inside?" Hamilton asked as he walked to the back of a wagon and picked up two crates of books seemingly without effort. He began to walk inside the building, and Emily followed. The officer walked with purpose, had confidence, and oozed charm.

Emily licked her lips. She could see why Heather liked the lieutenant. "Are you twisting my arm? You won't talk to me if I don't carry books?"

"I'm on duty, Ma'am. Right now my job is to carry books, so if you want to talk with me, you might as well make yourself useful." Hamilton sidestepped a couple of the other workers who were coming down an aisle with books being directed by Marjorie Simcox, librarian extraordinaire. Hamilton had already had the pleasure of making her acquaintance from almost the moment he arrived at the refurbished building that morning. Mrs. Simcox was quick to let him know that she'd been there for twenty-five years—nearly as long as Hamilton had been alive—and that there was a right way and wrong way of carrying a box of books. Hamilton nodded politely, listened to her concerns, and assured her that he and the other workers would treat the books as valued treasures.

"My name's Emily Sullivan," she said following him to the reference section. "You're Hamilton, right? You're already making a name for yourself."

"Oh, and what are people sayin'?" he asked nonchalantly as he placed the crates of books on a reading table and then turned to Emily to take one of her boxes and stack it, as well.

"That you brought Heather back from Camp…" Emily paused trying to remember the exact camp where Heather said she'd been situated.

"Hayward," Hamilton supplied.

"Right. Hayward. And that the two of you have become very friendly," Emily replied as she set the box on the reading table.

Hamilton straightened the box to Mrs. Simcox's specifications and turned to Emily, crossing his arms. "It's easy to be friendly with Ms. Lisinski. She's a very nice person," he replied walking past her and headed outside the building for the wagon, which was still stacked high with books.

Emily followed. "She is. I'm not here to pry or run interference or anything like that. I didn't even know that I would run into you, but now that I have, I just want to thank you for bringing Heather back safely. We thought she was dead, and there's just been so much loss lately, it's nice to have a happy ending for once."

Hamilton's mind was racing. It was all nice and fine that Emily Sullivan thought that this was a happy ending, but after talking with Heather the night before, he wasn't so convinced that it was quite the happy ending that his Dorothy had in mind. Returning to Jericho, finding out life had gone on without her, and discovering that she had no home would have been more than the average person could bear. Hamilton suspected it had taken its toll on her, only she kept her feelings close to the cuff.

But if Emily Sullivan was Heather's best friend, shouldn't she be aware of that? And yet in listening to her and her reference to a happy ending, it occurred to Hamilton how completely oblivious this woman was. "Have you talked to her today?"

"I did. Just a little while ago, in fact."

"How's she doin'?" Hamilton asked as he loaded Emily with another box of books from the wagon.

Emily paused, searching for the right words. "She's getting acclimated to life in Jericho again."

"Does she have what she needs?" he asked collecting two crates labeled 500s. He started back into the library with the books and headed toward the 500s section, determined to make Melvil Dewey and Mrs. Simcox proud.

Emily's brows furrowed. Heather had reclaimed quite a few things she'd left in her classroom, but if the FHSU shirt her friend pulled out was any indication of the state of the remainder of her clothing articles, they left quite a lot to be desired. Emily immediately felt shame wash over her. Why was it that this man, this stranger to their town, could see what Heather obviously needed and she could not when it was staring her in the face?

Emily exhaled loudly and pursued. "Not really, but we'll pull together and take care of her."

Hamilton remained pensive. He by no means considered himself an expert on Heather Lisinski, but from what he did know of her, he had a difficult time imagining Heather allowing herself to be taken care of. There had to be some way to help her out and let her maintain at least a semblance of pride and independence. A plan began to form in his mind.

"Everything still going okay here?" a tall bald man appeared from the office of the library speaking to a nearby group of citizen workers, his voice booming with joviality that, to Hamilton, seemed forced.

"Well, wonders never cease," Emily muttered at seeing the mayor. "You'd almost think it was an election year." She wondered what had happened to prompt Gray Anderson to leave the refuge of town hall and delve into fray with everyone else.

"He's been here a few minutes," Hamilton commented, his expression dour for the first time that Emily had seen.

"How come you didn't put _him_ to work moving boxes?" Emily asked, a hint of playfulness in her tone.

"Don't think I didn't try," Hamilton deadpanned.

"Are you staying in Jericho long?" Emily asked, hope in her voice. Lieutenant Hamilton might've been just what the doctor ordered for Heather. Emily had to admit that he was very handsome, albeit it a little too clean cut and straight-laced for her preference these days. But there was something about him, a quality she couldn't quite pinpoint, that she found very appealing. And he definitely seemed to have taken an interest in Heather, for which Emily was delighted. If Heather could find happiness with 

him, that would be perfect. And if Lieutenant Hamilton would help Heather to get her mind off of Jake, then that would be the icing on the cake.

"For however long I'm told," he replied. Truthfully, his presence in Jericho was a bit of a puzzle to Hamilton. He and the other men had been told that Jericho was of vital strategic importance, but none of the strategy had been shared.

"But you're not from around here. By your accent, I would say…Georgia?"

"Oh, you wound me, Ms. Sullivan. Tennessee."

"There's a difference?" Emily asked.

"What? If I called you a Cornhusker, that wouldn't matter to you?"

"You've got me there," Emily conceded with a grimace. "I need to go. It's going to be a busy afternoon for me."

"Lieutenant Hamilton! Oh, Lieutenant Hamilton!" Majorie Simcox called from the 800s section, breaking the cardinal rule of libraries: Thou shall be quiet. "Have you met Mayor Anderson yet? Wasn't it nice of him to come and check on us?"

Emily looked to Mrs. Simcox and back to Hamilton. "That's _definitely_ my cue to leave."

Hamilton shook his head. Heather Lisinski sure did have an interesting taste in friends.

* * *

Michael Flaherty, for what was not the first time since the bombs went off more than six months ago, wished his grandparents would not have emigrated from Ireland. He'd been there to visit once as a youngster, met with his extended family, and reveled in the sights and sounds. Sure, he had heard the stories that had been passed down through the ages, tales of tough times and a certain barroom brawl which led his family to Kansas, all in search of a promised land. Yet as Flaherty rubbed his tired eyes and reflected on the task ahead of him, he couldn't help but feel that his family would have been better off as potato farmers than as carpenters in a post-Apocalyptic society. Not that he hadn't made a good living over the years, because he had, but the one thing he'd never had to deal with was trying to put things back together again with a bare-boned operation.

Flaherty's brown eyes surveyed his companion as the two stood outside the Flaherty Construction headquarters. Granted, _headquarters _was something of a loose term for the metal building that served as a bookkeeping and storage area. Business had been good, and it never seemed too important to have a showroom. The work Flaherty had done around Jericho and the surrounding areas over the years, _that _was his showroom.

It really was the end of the world if the two of them were working together again. What was the old saying about strange bedfellows? Flaherty ran his tongue along his teeth. He needed a toothpick, and he resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't likely to find one, just as he'd resigned himself to many other inconveniences in recent times.

For example, he'd really been looking forward to using his new pneumatic roofing nail gun. Of course, it was hard to do without coil nails or reliable electricity to power his air compressor. When he bought the nail gun, he's been amused by all the warning cartoons. His personal favorite featured a man chasing another person with the nail gun, complete with a large red circle and line through the picture. DO NOT USE NAIL GUN AS A WEAPON. Flaherty had never been tempted until he started dealing with the representatives from Jennings & Rall. He was convinced that if he ever had the chance—and a fresh supply of coil nails—there would be hell to pay. "I talked to that little guy over at Jackasses & Rall about building materials. Chet somethin' or other. Pretentious little prick. Even his name sounds pretentious."

The corners of Eric Green's mouth turned up. When he'd worked construction one summer in high school nearly half a lifetime ago, he'd meshed with Michael Flaherty about as well as oil does with water. However, now that he was older, he appreciated the curmudgeonly older man's finer qualities. "And?" Eric asked as he rubbed his too-long beard. It was getting itchy.

"Said it'd be a few weeks. Supplies are running low all around."

Eric frowned. It was the same story they'd been hearing since Jennings and Rall arrived nearly four weeks ago on the heels of the army, and it struck him as patently ridiculous. Wasn't J&R supposed to be renowned for rebuilding infrastructure? How could they make this claim without having an ace up their collective sleeve? For that matter, how had they managed to conduct renovations of town hall and repairs to some of the 'select' businesses in town without access to basic supplies? "I wonder if we could get people to go through their sheds and garages and pull out any building scraps they have? Maybe they would be willing to donate them."

Flaherty shook his head. "I'm guessing any wood scraps people had are long gone. It was a cold winter."

"And we're in the wrong part of the country for lumber production."

Flaherty frowned. Jackasses & Rall were punishing him for not playing ball. Damn if he wasn't getting too old for these games. "Look, I'm happy to give what I can out of my warehouse. Provided I can get a few necessities in return."

"Of course. Make a list of what you need. We can work out a trade."

"And you know," Flaherty added, "we could talk to Jonah Prowse. He has a way of getting things."

"No," Eric replied, remembering the last time Jonah had been involved with anything related to their town. "We're desperate but not _that_ desperate."

Flaherty studied the younger man. There might come a time when Eric Green would soften his stance on Jonah Prowse, but today wasn't that day, so he wasn't going to push it. "What shape do you think New Bern's in? You think they might have supplies we could use?"

Eric nearly chortled. "Last time I was there, they were in shambles. They didn't have enough to get themselves fixed up. And of course, I doubt they'll be offering to help _us_ anytime soon." An absurd thought occurred to him, that they were stuck in a really bad Western waiting for the stage coach to get to town. Eric missed the support of the Eastern states, the Northeast with its manufacturing hub, the Southeast with its plentiful lumber.

_E pluribus Unum_. When Eric considered the unofficial motto of what had been their country, it now filled him with a sense of melancholy where it had once made him feel hopeful. They were stronger as one than as these fragmented parts. But who was going to be willing to yield authority to the other factions? Their information was limited, but if Eric knew his history and human nature, he was certain that changes were coming down the bend.

"Look, I'll get some of the boys to see what I've got that we can get started with. Got some plans on file. We'll have to change 'em around, of course, but we can pull together some ideas and work toward getting them approved."

"Thanks," Eric nodded, though the thought did occur to him that it was questionable about who exactly would be granting approval. Was it the landowner? Gray Anderson? And who bore the burden of rebuilding? There was still a lot to be worked out, but Eric felt better knowing that at least they were doing something.

He began walking back toward downtown, eager to kill two birds with one stone: he'd urge Gray to put pressure on J&R for more supplies and he'd stop in to see Mary. The thought of the curly haired woman put a spring in Eric's step. By all rights, they should never have been together, but like moths to a flame…

He'd disappointed so many people when he'd left April: April, who had let down her guard long enough to fall in love with him but raised her guard in the years that followed, his mother who had always taught him about respecting others, and his father, the man who tried to instill principles of honor and trust.

Eric swallowed hard when he thought of his father. A little more than a month had passed, but Eric could still see Johnston Green lying on the kitchen table at the Richmond farm. His dad had known his wound was mortal, and through his last moments, he'd worried more for those he'd be leaving behind than he did for himself.

_Eric knew Johnston Green had always been a man's man. Strong, direct, and not one to dwell on emotions. Yet as his father looked at Jake and him, his two boys—men—Eric could see the cacophony of emotions sweep over him. Pride, regret, and most of all love. _

_Eric reeled as his dad's eyes focused on him, trying to imbue him with strength. Eric had tried to be his father's rock, a son his dad could rely upon. Even as a child, he'd wanted to be his father's rock, sometimes at the expense of just being a kid. And now his father was looking to him, pain written across his features. Pain mingled with love. Eric wanted to be his father's rock once again, even as his father tried to be strong for him. _

_Their father's regret was evident. He would've done anything to protect them both from what was to come. "I'm sorry you have to see this. You've been through enough."_

_Eric fought to keep his tears at bay. This man, this giant of a man. his father, looked so pale. It was happening before him, and he was powerless. "Dad. Dad stop." _

_The older man struggled to form the words, his strength fading from his body just as he tried to instill strength in Eric. "You're stronger than you think you are, though. Always have been. I love you, son."_

_The lump in Eric's throat made it impossible to speak. He choked away a sob._

_The smallest hint of humor crossed their father's face. "I guess I zigged when I should've zagged out there, huh?"_

The familiar lump formed in Eric's throat as he rounded a street corner. He tried to push it away and immediately felt guilty. In pushing away the emotions, he wondered if he was pushing his father away. Some part of him needed to remember, even if it was the most painful recent memory he held, for those memories of his father spurred him on. And Eric supposed he should feel grateful. Not every man had the opportunity to have his father as his best friend or to the chance to spend his last moments saying goodbye. But as Eric walked along, luck and gratitude were not what he felt. Overwhelmed was more like it.

It was then that a slight figure caught his eye walking along the railroad tracks.

_Heather._ Despite his glum state, he immediately felt his spirits lift.

"Heather!"

"Eric!"

The two met, and their arms wrapped around one another, seeking the familiar comfort of friendship. "I still can't believe you're alive," he marveled as they pulled away from one another.

"Yeah. I've had twenty-six years to get used to the idea. You've only had a day," she quipped.

Eric smiled back at her, albeit sadly. If Heather Lisinski could rise from the ashes, so could Jericho. There was no way in hell that Eric would let his father's death be for naught.

"Are you okay, Eric?" she asked, seeing the look of sadness his face.

"I'll be fine," he replied. "It's just been one of those days when I've really missed having my dad around."

Heather nodded. She understood completely, having had quite a few days like that herself. "I'm sorry, Eric. I wish you didn't have to go through this, and that there was something I could say or do to make it easier for you."

"Just knowing that you're okay makes it easier for me," he replied with sincerity. "So what are you doing? And what are those?" Eric asked indicating the bags she carried.

Heather looked at him, debating whether to press the topic of his father, but decided against it, as Eric had deliberately changed the direction of the conversation. They would talk about it when he was ready. "These," she said lifting the bags in one hand, "are some things I found in my classroom. As for what I've been doing, I have been on The Great Water Heater Adventure."

"The what?" Eric asked as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled up the sleeves. The early afternoon sun was starting to get the better of him.

Heather groaned. "I undertook what I naively thought would be a simple task, to fix the water heater at your mom's house. Little did I know that parts are still not so easy to come by. And since Mr. Steele is no longer bartering," she explained as she watched a dour look flash across Eric's face, "I've tried some alternative methods of getting replacement parts. Namely, I went to the junk yard."

"And what did you find?"

"A whole lotta junk," she shrugged.

"Where you headed?" Eric asked.

"Back toward the center of town."

"Same here. I'll walk with you," he said reaching over and taking her bags from her. Heather smiled slightly. She'd have been perfectly fine carrying the bags herself, but it was nice to know that despite the end of the world as she knew it, chivalry wasn't completely dead. "Have you had lunch yet?"

"I think I just got so busy, I forgot to eat," Heather admitted. The day had been an emotional rollercoaster, and food had been the last thing on her mind.

"The Great Water Heater Adventure can wait. You need some food."

"Eric, I'm fine. Really," Heather insisted.

His brows furrowed, an expression similar to one she'd seen on Jake's face earlier. Though the two brothers looked very little like one another, Heather found herself noticing common mannerisms from time to time.

_Jake_. Why did the thought of him continue to taunt her? This needed to stop. She couldn't go on seeing him everywhere she looked. He would be marrying her best friend—oh goodness, she was going to have to break down and add a new rule to live by.

"Don't argue with me. I'm going over to Mary's. _You_ are going to come along."

"You're bossy!"

"And don't forget it," he replied with exaggerated bossiness. They fell into step together, and Eric slowed his long stride to match her shorter one.

"Rule #5: Know when to say when, and know when to give in."

Heather's exaggerated sigh made Eric smile. "Ah, the famous rules to live by. How many of those do you have anyway?"

Heather shrugged. "The number keeps going up. So what have you been working on today?" she asked inclining her head slightly in his direction.

"The Great Construction Adventure," he replied, mimicking her earlier description.

Heather began to laugh but stifled it with a cough, trying to cover her reaction.

"_What?_" he asked noticing the amusement that glinted across her features.

"It's nothing," she replied quickly.

"No, tell me," he insisted.

Her eyebrows lifted. "I just seem to remember a certain cell mate of mine divulging memories of a summer spent working construction. Wasn't that summer part of the reason you were determined to go to college?"

Eric shrugged. "_Damn._ See, this is the problem with being convinced you're going to die in prison. You tell all your deep dark secrets, end up making it out alive, and then—bam—you get blackmailed."

Heather chuckled lightly. Saboteur, spy, blackmailer. Her résumé was beginning to take on a life of its own. "Well, you can trust this jail bird not to rat you out. So…construction? Really? You mentioned rebuilding when I saw you yesterday, but I guess I didn't put two and two together."

"That's understandable." Eric remembered how his father had urged him toward that job with Mr. Flaherty the summer between his junior and senior years of high school. Johnston Green had been convinced that it would help build character and instill in Eric an appreciation for hard work. That was the same summer that Jake lived and worked on the ranch with their grandfather after managing a QPA of 1.8 in his first year of college, the summer which marked the beginning of Jake becoming mildly involved with Jonah Prowse's operations, a decision that set their parents on edge. The more Jake 

pushed their father away, the more Johnston had pushed Eric to succeed. "I never figured I would have anything to do with building again. I wasn't cut out for construction back then."

"Only because you kept arguing with the foreman about the best way to do things."

"You want to hear something ironic?"

"Always. I _live_ for irony." When she'd sat in the booth with Jake and Emily the night before, she'd been confounded by ironic situations. Irony was a dutiful companion.

"I'm working with that same foreman again."

Heather's eyes widened. Despite the fact that it had been many years ago that Eric worked in construction, he'd been very clear about just how miserable working for Michael Flaherty had been. The man had been determined to bring him down a few pegs, and Eric, the golden child, was not accustomed to being dumped on. "So how is that?"

"Better. I'm not a teenage know-it-all anymore."

"No, you're a grown-up know-it-all," Heather teased.

"Says one know-it-all to another," Eric shot back.

"Touché. So, all kidding aside, how is The Great Construction Adventure _really_ going?"

Eric exhaled loudly. "Slowly. J&R is dragging its feet."

It was just as Heather feared, and the question that arose in her mind nagged at her. Why could they almost immediately distribute a new textbook series but be so far behind in procuring supplies for struggling towns?

The fact that a number of weeks had passed and rubble could be seen in various places in Jericho, including the site of what had been her apartment building, told Heather more than any words could. Rebuilding under the best of circumstances would have been difficult and time consuming. Rebuilding in the midst of shortages would be a test of their ingenuity and determination. "I wonder if we could appeal to someone else."

Eric had already run through scenarios in his mind and conversed with Mr. Flaherty about the same thing. Each time he came up empty. Perhaps a fresh perspective was just what he needed. "Who did you have in mind?"

"What about Major Beck?"

Eric frowned. While he didn't hold Beck in as much disdain as his brother did, he held little confidence in the military man's abilities to institute real change. "A man like that is all about the chain of command. He won't get involved unless someone beneath him brings it to his attention. Even then, he'd probably say it's out of his jurisdiction."

"It doesn't hurt to try. Plus, I do happen to know someone," Heather added slowly, "a young lieutenant."

Eric's eyebrow shot up. "Lieutenant Hamilton?"

"You know about him?" Heather asked taken aback.

"I came back to the tavern last night, but you and Jake had already left. Mary told me all about it."

"By 'all about it,' you mean…." Heather could still feel Jake's warm breath against her cheek and the sensation of his hands on her hips. She could've so easily lost herself in him the night before. He affected her, to her utter detriment he affected her.

"Yeah."

Heather cleared her throat trying to cast aside thoughts of Jake. "So maybe I can talk to him and see what the proper channels are. There just has to be something we can do."

"I don't hold out much hope, but who knows? Stranger things have happened. After all, we weren't supposed to make it out alive, were we?" A shadow crossed Eric's features, memories of New Bern fresh on his mind.

"Yeah. We had them all fooled, didn't we, Eric?" Heather replied, her tone softening. They walked in silence for a moment before she broached the topic she'd wanted to ask. "Are you okay after what happened in New Bern? I mean…" Her voice trailed off, remembering how Phil Constantino and Bart Travers had brutally beaten Eric in their quest to secure information about Jericho.

"I know what you mean," he replied mercifully cutting her short. "I am. It's been one hell of a year, but I'm making it. I won't lie and say I don't think about what happened because I do, but having distance and having something else to focus on has made all the difference in the world."

"I'm glad, Eric. I'm glad you made it back. I'm glad I made it back. I'm just really…"

"Glad?" Eric supplied. "Why do I get the feeling that some part of you is still in New Bern, Heather?"

"I don't know," Heather replied evasively.

"What happened back there was not your fault. Travers left you no choice."

"I know." And logically she did, but her emotions tasked her. "I would do it again in a heartbeat. I would. I just—I close my eyes and see it every night. I can hear and feel everything from that moment, too. Does it get easier?"

"It will. It has to. You were the one who got me through that, Heather, and I promise you this. I am going to get you through what's happening now. You have a lot of people here who care for you."

"Eric, you don't have to worry about me. I might bend a little, but I'm not going to break," Heather replied earnestly.

"You and Jake…"

Heather groaned good-naturedly. "Ugh, not this again!"

"Heather, you don't have to cover with me. Remember? There are no secrets between us. We know more about each other…"

"…than most couples do. I know. You're a good friend, Eric. I just don't really think there's anything to say about Jake and me. That chapter was written a long time ago."

"You sure? Mary said you and my brother shared quite a dance."

"She's exaggerating. The only reason it could be considered 'quite a dance' would be because I avoided stepping on his feet. Besides, Jake and Emily are getting married. And I know exactly what you're doing. You're trying to get me to talk about him, and darn if it isn't working."

"What?"

"I am not going to talk about him anymore," Heather repeated.

"No, no. Back up," Eric spoke quickly. "What's this about Jake getting married to Emily?"

"You mean you didn't know?" Heather bit her lip. "Oops."

Eric looked unconvinced. "Are you sure?" he asked with a frown. To the best of his knowledge, Jake and Emily hadn't been that serious. Together, yes. Serious? Ready for a lifelong commitment? They'd not managed to pull it off yet. Not that Jake confided in Eric all that much, but Eric was sure Jake would've said something to Stanley. And knowing Stanley Richmond, if there was news of a wedding, it wouldn't be secret for long.

"Well, Jake didn't tell me. Then again," Heather sighed, "Jake didn't really tell me anything about Emily and him. So the wedding thing didn't really come up."

Eric frowned. Yesterday he'd warned Jake to tell her, and the fact that Jake didn't listen infuriated Eric. Of course, what else was new? Since when did Jake take his advice? Since when did Jake do anything Jake didn't want to do? "Then how did you hear?"

"I ran into Emily over at school. She filled me in on what happened while I was gone. Roger leaving. Getting back together with Jake. I was certainly surprised. But you know what, Eric?" Heather continued. "It really doesn't matter. I'm fine with it."

Eric stopped walking and turned to look at his friend. "I'm fine with it," she repeated lifting her chin defiantly, though Eric could've sworn he saw her quiver as she spoke.

"Fine with it? Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?"

"You make it sound as though Jake and I had some grand love affair before I left for New Bern. Eric, I had a crush on him. That's it. I humiliated myself by kissing him in the middle of Main Street, and then we didn't even talk about the kiss until I brought it up a month later. The only reason it came up was because he was acting all weird that I wanted to go to Black Jack with the group. During that month he, by the way, avoided me like the plague. So, yes, I am _fine_ with it." But as she'd spoken, her voice had become shakier, more tenuous. "He doesn't want me Eric. He never did. And I am fine with it."

Eric draped an arm around her shoulder and absently kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry, Heather. I'm sorry I pushed. I just don't want you feeling like you have to pretend for my benefit."

Heather swallowed hard. She thought back to the conversation she'd had with Jake earlier in the day about the differences between adults and children. She could summarize it in one word: pretenses. Grownups learned to filter their thoughts and knowingly manipulate others as well as themselves, a skill so inherent in adults and so absent in children. Sometimes the pretense was for personal gain, and other times it was for preservation. Whatever the reason, pretenses flourished.

And as they walked together in silence, Heather knew she wasn't pretending for Eric's benefit. She was pretending for her own.

_To be continued in Chapter 10…_


	12. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten: "Relativity" **

Driving Heather's truck wasn't exactly what Jake Green would term a 'quiet' experience, but it was the first time that day when he'd truly been left alone to his thoughts.

And what a rollercoaster of a day it had been. Meeting with Hawkins, having the tendrils of responsibility of not just Jericho but the future of their nation beginning to stretch and take hold of him, had made him contemplative. Could he be what Jericho needed? Could he do what Hawkins asked of him? This part of him—this very large part of him—wanted to remove himself from the situation. In the past, that would have been his solution.

But there was no such thing as running anymore. The grass wasn't greener on the other side of the fence, though he supposed it might have contained Heather's giant irradiated ants. Despite the seriousness of the situation out there and within Jericho itself, Jake couldn't help but allow himself the smallest of smiles. No, the opportunities weren't any better out there than they were in Jericho, but Jericho had something that the outside world didn't have: his past and his hope for the future.

Then there was the offer Beck had made him earlier: to become sheriff. Jake knew he had to take the job. He'd be able to kill two birds with one stone. Keep the people of his town safe and keep an eye on the new government. In theory, it was the perfect opportunity. In practice, Jake wasn't altogether sure he'd be able to stomach working with Major Beck. Hell, who was he kidding? It would probably be a matter of working _for_ Major Beck. There was something about the man that pushed all of his buttons. Was it his interminable patience bordering on condescension? Was it just a throwback to the issues Jake had with authority, in general? More often than not, his father's voice resounded in his head. _"If it was a sunny day, and I said the sky was blue, you'd argue just for the sake of arguing. If you're going to fight for something, you better be damn sure it's worth it."_

And that was Jake's problem. What was worthwhile? His pursuit of happiness at the expense of others? Giving of himself to others at the expense of himself? Was there a middle ground somewhere?

As Jake drove, his eyes caught sight of a Kansas flag still flying outside Michael Flaherty's construction company. Against the backdrop of blue, Jake recognized the sunflower, Kansas's state flower. The seal of Kansas was also pictured, illustrating a field being plowed by a farmer, a steamboat on the banks of the Kansas River, and a wagon train. On the horizon was a series of stars. Jake realized that he essentially had the flag memorized. All those years he and Eric spent hanging out at town hall as a kid had rubbed off on him, seeing the array of flags in his father's office, including the U.S. flag and the Gadsden flag. But for all the times he'd seen the Kansas flag, he'd never truly considered the state motto: _Ad Astra per Aspera. To the Stars through Difficulty. _

Jake remembered enough of his Kansas state history to know that the motto referenced the difficulty Kansas had in being accepted by the Union during the time leading up to the American Civil War, as well as being an acknowledgement of the pioneer spirit of those hardy people who settled and worked the land.

Who knew more than 150 years later that the motto would be so appropriate?

Jake frowned. 'To the stars through difficulty,' indeed. What would become of them? Jake suspected a choice was coming around the bend.

Seeing the tall figure of his brother and the slight figure of Heather shook Jake from his thoughts. He drove by them, watched them in the rear-view mirror as they both did a double-take, and completed a U-turn to pull alongside them.

"Want a lift?" he asked casually, the look on his face leaving no doubt as to how pleased with himself he was to have Charlotte running.

A smile spread across Heather's features at the sight of her old truck. Charlotte was strangely comforting to her, from its occasional dents to the familiar sputtering noise she made. "Forget giving me a lift. I want to drive! Scoot over."

* * *

"Burgers?" Mary asked as she approached the trio of Eric, Heather, and Jake who had just settled into a booth.

Jake nodded. "Yeah." He recalled an evening, just a few months, when he sat at the dinner table with his parents, Eric, and April, eating instant mashed potatoes and salivating at the thought of a cheeseburger. It seemed like another lifetime ago.

"You know me so well," Eric replied as he stood to lean across the table to quickly kiss the curly haired proprietor of Bailey's.

Mary shrugged. "That, and my own severely limited menu. Still, we've managed to make the burger interesting again." She couldn't say that they were entirely through with shortages. There were plenty of things that Mary Bailey would've loved to get her hands on—including, but not limited to, any citrus, a multitude of imported beers and liquors, and chocolate—but the food supply was improving, beef being a major and welcome addition over the last month.

"You certainly won't get any complaints from me," Heather piped in, now that she'd stopped long enough to realize that she actually was hungry. "I'll take the famous Bailey burger with all the fixings, minus onions."

Mary grinned. "Good choice, especially if you plan on kissing someone later on."

Heather's cheeks reddened and she coughed slightly, while Jake shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Eric shot Mary a look of amusement mingled with 'oh no, you didn't.'

Mary smirked, remembering the night before when she'd given Jake the push he needed toward Heather. Though from the look of things, they may were back to square one. Well, if Jake didn't get his act together, Mary was pretty certain that the young lieutenant who ordered the iced tea the night 

before would beat Jake to the punch, and it would serve him right. "I was just kidding. You guys are a tough crowd. Some food should do a world of good for you. And some booze, too. It's past 10:00 A.M."

"So 10:00 is the new 4:00?" Eric asked, not entirely surprised that people's drinking habits had changed since the bombs. He'd been known to indulge more frequently than in the past himself.

"People get started earlier and earlier these days," Mary commented off-handedly, though that small observation was reflective of the much larger problems at hand. Her eyes traveled to the bar where Dr. Kenchy Dhuwalia sat, drink in hand. Jake cast a glance in his direction, as well, and hoped that he'd have the alcohol out of his system by the time his late shift started at the clinic.

"None for me, Mary. _I'm_ _driving_," Heather grinned as she lifted her truck key with pride, the key now affixed to her new key chain from Gail. Her embarrassment from Mary's comment was pushed aside at the delight of having Charlotte operational.

The corners of Jake's mouth turned up at the sight of the happiness that shone in Heather's eyes. It was good to see. She deserved that and so much more.

Eric's eyes fell upon his brother, and for what wasn't the first time since he and Heather ran into Jake half an hour before, Eric was tempted to ask him what the hell he was thinking by continuing to involve himself in Heather's life when he was getting married to Emily. But he hadn't for two reasons: he didn't want to confront Jake in Heather's presence and Eric figured he already knew Jake's answer, and that answer would involve a deflection back to Eric's own relationship shortcomings.

Mary reached out and touched the keychain lightly, noticing the inscription: _Home is where you're loved_. "You don't say? Did you get your truck up and running?"

Heather looked to Jake, her expression softening. "No, I have Jake to thank for that."

"I'll go down in history as the man who put gasoline in a truck," Jake said wryly.

"Sometimes even the smallest kindnesses make all the difference in the world," Heather replied, her voice reflective. "Playing a game of soccer with a group of kids, filling a friend's gas tank. They may seem insignificant at the time, but to the person who receives the kindness…" her voice trailed off. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to get on my soapbox."

"And I don't mean to sound like a jackass. I've just never been very good at this."

"At what?" Heather asked.

"Receiving compliments," Jake replied.

Eric pounced. "C'mon, Jake. You should be used to it. Back in high school, you received plenty of compliments from our classmates. Remember the time you and Stanley put Gerhardt's nickname to the test and let a …."

Jake held up his hand. "That's enough about that."

"Good old 'Show No Mercy Percy'?" Mary asked as she handed the lunch order to an employee walking by and slid in the booth next to Eric.

"They still call him that," Heather supplied. Percival Gerhardt's tenure at Jericho High School was one of legend. For seventeen years he'd been the principal of Jericho Elementary's sister school. And from what Heather had heard, for seventeen years, he'd been the victim of countless pranks and high jinks at the hands of his students. Apparently, he wasn't much more popular among teachers, either. The word through the grapevine was that he'd once been an assistant principal in Hays, and when he announced he'd be moving to Jericho to take the principalship here, the teachers had literally danced in the hallways, celebrating his imminent departure. Heather hadn't had much occasion to be around the man, but his reputation certainly preceded him.

Mary looked at Heather and explained, "The things Jake and Stanley did to him are legendary to this day."

Heather was intrigued. "What _did _you and Stanley do?"

Jake smirked. "Let's just say that knowing me is not going to improve your reputation with him," he said to Heather.

"No kidding," Eric grumbled. "Do you know how hard it was to be your kid brother? Mr. Gerhardt expected a repeat of the Jake years when I came along."

"I may have done some things to make Principal Gerhardt's life miserable, but I was really only returning the favor. Now that I'm older and wiser…"

Eric coughed loudly, prompting a sour expression from Jake.

"…or maybe just older," Jake amended, "I can honestly say that I'd do it all over again."

Heather laughed lightly and shook her head. Her imagination was running wild, envisioning what trouble Jake had caused. She had her own flirtations with mischief, such as affixing toy soldiers to her youth minister's house using Vaseline, but she was quite certain her mischief paled in comparison.

"Hopefully not _all _of it," Mary asserted. "Remember what we talked about last night? The definition of insanity and all…?" Jake glowered at Mary, but his glare rolled off Mary's back. "Einstein's a genius. You can't argue with him."

"Einstein?" Heather asked. "Oh, one of my heroes. To paraphrase, he said that if you can't explain something to a six year old, then you don't know it yourself. I always took that to heart when I walked into my classroom." Heather paused. She could only imagine what Einstein would say about what they'd become, finally and irrevocably using nuclear weapons to the tune of their own destruction.

Eric's eyes fixed on Mary. "I like how he described relativity. 'When a man sits with a pretty girl for an hour, it seems like a minute. But let him sit on a hot stove for a minute and it's longer than any hour. That's relativity.'

"Mmm. Mr. Smooth," Mary said stroking Eric's face, "with a very rough beard. Speaking of a hot stove, I'd better go make sure everything's going okay in the kitchen." She pressed her lips to Eric's briefly before sliding out of the booth and leaving.

"And I need to wash my hands," Heather announced. "Rule #7: Cleanliness may not be next to godliness, but those around you will sure appreciate it."

"You and your rules. Some things never change," Eric commented.

Heather thought about her trip to the junk yard, and her nose wrinkled involuntarily. "If you'd had your hands on some of the things I've had my hands on today, you'd want to drown your hands in alcohol."

Jake slid out of the booth allowing Heather to exit, his eyes following her as she walked toward the ladies room. Her ponytail bounced back and forth as she walked, but what Jake noticed most was her sleek neck and the gentle curve of her hips. Could it only have been last night when he'd touched her there? When he'd felt the supple skin of her neck and when their bodies had moved together in a dance?

"What was that death look you were giving Mary?" Eric asked as Jake settled back into the booth.

"Nothing," Jake replied.

"If that was nothing, then what about the look you were giving Heather just now?"

Jake's eyes narrowed. "How about you interpret this look I'm giving _you_?"

Eric ignored his brother. "You can't have it both ways, Jake," he said stretching his arms out in the booth.

"What are you talking about?"

"Emily and Heather. You can't have it both ways. You can't be engaged to Emily and drool over Heather. It's not fair to either one of them, and more importantly, I'm not going to let you do that to Heather. She deserves better than that."

Jake didn't even know where to begin with what his brother was saying. Beyond Eric's blatant hypocrisy, there was the fact that Eric was making very little sense. About the only thing Eric was saying that did make sense was that Heather deserved better than him. "You're not in any position to be the champion of virtues when it comes to women."

"You're right. I have made every mistake that there is to make in a relationship. I don't…" Eric paused, considering how to put his thoughts into words. He'd had a lot of time while in New Bern to reflect on the choices he'd made. "…regret falling in love with Mary. I only regret that I wasn't up front with April at the start. I could have saved her a hell of a lot of heartache." He swallowed hard. "And maybe I could have saved _her_, too."

"There was nothing you could have done for April or the baby, Eric."

"That's not true, but thanks for saying that," Eric replied shaking his head. He clasped his hands together. "Look, I'm not saying these things to you from some high horse, Jake. I know how hypocritical it sounds to give you relationship advice. I get that. But I also know how easy it is to fall into the trap of…" his voice trailed off. "Look, if you're going to be with Emily, be with her. If you're going to be with Heather, be with her. But don't do this back and forth of false hopes."

Jake considered Eric's words. He wanted to refute what Eric was saying about Heather, but truth be told, Jake had thought of her often, not just in the last two days since her return to Jericho, but since they'd met on the school bus the day of the attacks. Heather Lisinski was different from anyone he'd ever known; despite all they faced, she made him want to believe in the beauty of life, not its horrors. She made him believe in her, trust her, when Jake had been conditioned for so long not to trust anyone. Yes, he wanted to refute Eric's statement that he was drooling over Heather, but there was no refuting the truth. The only thing Jake could do was keep a handle on it. "I'm not engaged to Emily," he finally said. "I don't know where you got that idea."

Eric's brows furrowed. "Someone told me."

"You'd think some of the gossip would've died down when Gracie Leigh died," Jake commented and then cringed. "That sounded…"

Eric wrinkled his nose. "Yeah."

"Heather is my friend, Eric. Same as she's yours. I want her to be safe, to be happy. That's it."

"You're right. Heather _is_ my friend. I guess I don't look at my friends the same way you do. And I sure don't dance with my friends the way you do."

Jake looked away, seeing that Mary was now back behind the bar. He had little doubt where that nugget of information originated. "Mary talks too much."

"We don't have any secrets from each other. Can you say the same for you and Emily?"

Jake ignored his brother's question. "Speaking of talking too much, what in the hell were you thinking?" His voice was even, his features stern.

Eric rubbed his beard. "What are you talking about?"

Jake lowered his voice, but what he lacked in volume, he compensated in harshness. "You ran to Gray Anderson of all people, who then went off running his mouth to Beck. The man acts before thinking."

Eric's eyes widened. He could spout a litany of instances when Jake acted before thinking. And Jake wanted to lecture _him_? "Pot meet kettle," Eric replied. "You want to lecture me about being short-sighted? At least I'm trying to do something to make things better around here."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jake demanded.

"Ever since…" Eric averted his gaze before he continued. "Ever since Dad died, what have you been doing with your time, Jake? Hanging around the ranch with the horses? Mulling over your existence? Complaining without being willing to do anything about it? I can't do it on my own, Jake. I'm not Dad."

"You're sure as hell not."

Eric head snapped up to meet Jake's gaze. "You remember what he said to you before he died? He was proud of you. And you know what? I was, too. You were decisive—and I knew, God I knew, it was a suicide mission, but I was willing to follow you anywhere you led, Jake. You were ready to die for what you believed in, so why can't you live for what you believe in?"

What Jake wanted to say warred with what Eric needed to hear. "What I believe in, Eric? You don't even know what I believe in. You don't know shit. You don't know what I think or what I feel. You don't know _me_."

His brother's words did not surprise Eric. It was Jake's fall back, but Eric was not going to let it slide. Not this time. "You want to run the show, Jake? Is that it? You want to run things? You want to handle Gray Anderson? You want to rebuild this place? Then stop hiding and start running things."

"Beck asked me to be sheriff," Jake supplied. "Is that out in the open enough for you?"

Eric was momentarily speechless. After a moment, he regained his composure. "When?"

"Earlier today."

"What did you tell him?"

"That I'd think about it."

"Jake, you have to do this!" Eric insisted, his voice raising. Jake motioned for him to quiet. With his voice lowered, Eric continued, "This could be an opportunity to find out what's really going on and have some say."

"I know," Jake agreed. "And I'm going to take it."

"You ever think you'd be on this side of the law?" Eric asked, a slow smile spreading across his features.

* * *

"Iced tea to go, please." Lieutenant Jacob Hamilton stood at the bar in Bailey's, the curly-haired bartender meeting his easy smile. Since running into Emily Sullivan an hour earlier, several circumstances had changed. He'd managed to get to Jennings and Rall and have some Buffalo Credits placed in Heather's name from his own account. The small ledger he carried in his shirt pocket would allow her to purchase some modest necessities that she might have need of. But he still had to find her first, and time was running out. His C.O. had shown up at the library with new orders for him.

"Too bad you're not staying. Heather Lisinski is around here somewhere."

Hamilton glanced at the corner booth, seeing Jake Green with a bearded man but no Heather.

Hamilton chuckled. "If anyone could convince me to shirk my responsibilities, it would be her."

"There she is," Mary replied and pointed toward the alcove where the restrooms were located. Mary waved at Heather, who, upon seeing her with Hamilton, approached the bar.

"Hey there," Heather said.

"Hey there yourself. I'm glad I ran into you," Hamilton said with a smile. Heather didn't think she'd ever known a man who smiled more. Somehow, though, it seemed to fit him and his personality; his smiles were genuine and they made her feel warm and comforted.

She returned his smile. "It's good to see you, too." And it was. Some part of Heather felt as though she'd known Hamilton for years rather than days.

"How are you gettin' settled?" he asked.

"Fine. Gail has been very good to me."

"And Jake?"

Her eyes darted to the corner booth where Jake and Eric sat. She was momentarily startled to see Jake's intense gaze upon her. Her heart began to pound, its standby reaction to Jake Green. She forced herself to calm down, reminded of Emily's earlier announcement and the handsome man who stood next to her. She focused on Hamilton and found herself drawing nearer to him. "Jake, too."

"I'm goin' to be gone for a coupla days. Wanted to say goodbye before I headed out."

"Where are you going?"

"New Bern," the lieutenant responded. An involuntarily shudder ran through Heather, a movement he noticed immediately. "You okay?" He reached out and held her elbow, steadying her.

"I'm fine," she replied. "Just…" her voice trailed off. She looked down at her hands. She'd just washed them, but they suddenly felt dirty again. And sticky. And was that copper she smelled?

"Thinkin' about your time there?"

His words shook her from her thoughts. "Yeah," she managed before looking up at him again. "Hamilton, be careful in New Bern."

He reached out and tweaked her chin lightly. "Dorothy, I'm always careful." His tone was easy-going as ever, but the look of sincerity on his face let her know he was taking her words to heart. "So your old stompin' grounds."

"More like I got stomped on," Heather said absently. "Listen, if you get the chance, could you do me a favor while you're there?"

Without hesitation, he replied, "You know I will."

"You don't even know what I'm going to ask," Heather replied, surprised that she wasn't met with a block wall of the mantra she'd heard from many of the military personnel she'd encountered first at Camp Liberty and then at Camp Hayward over the last month: 'that doesn't fall under my jurisdiction.'

"I'd do anythin' humanly possible for you if it meant you'd flash me that smile of yours."

Heather felt her face grow warm, and she couldn't help the smile that crept onto her features despite her best effort to be serious. "You're flirting with me again."

"Damn skippy. You should be flirted with and often _and_ by someone who knows how."

"Mmm. My own Rhett Butler? I'm not exactly Scarlet O'Hara," Heather said with a smile. She'd seen the movie enough times to recognize the lines. When she was in college, she'd even played a drinking game that involved downing a shot every time Scarlet slapped someone. "So how is it that you can quote _Gone with the Wind_? Or, nearly quote, as it were."

"Ah, some things are best left a mystery. Now, what can I do for you while I'm in New Bern?"

"I have a friend there that I need to get a message to. The phones…" Heather frowned as she thought of the lack of communication between Jericho and the outside world. Goodness, when had a town thirty minutes away suddenly become 'the outside world'? But isolated as they were from one another, at least officially, it was an apt description. Something still felt wrong about that. If she only knew who to ask about it without getting the standard runaround. "…the phones won't work to call outside of Jericho, and things aren't exactly great between Jericho and New Bern right now."

"This must be a special friend," Hamilton noted.

"He is," Heather replied. "My best friend growing up. He's like the brother I never had. You may have heard me mention him. Ted Lewis."

"When Major Beck debriefed you," Hamilton replied. "Yes, I do remember."

Heather's chin trembled slightly. "He doesn't know I'm alive. He—like everyone else—had been told I was dead. I just…I just want him to know I'm okay."

"I'll take care of it," Hamilton replied.

"Let me write his address for you," Heather replied, relief washing over her. She pulled a small note pad and pen from the canvas bag she carried. Sitting at the bar, she jotted down the address, as well as a brief message for her friend.

As she wrote, Hamilton leaned against the bar and asked, "Did I see you drivin' an old truck a few minutes ago?"

"That was Charlotte," she replied as she dotted an _i_.

"Is Charlotte a woman who looks just like you, right down to your dimple?" he asked with a wink.

Heather felt her face grow warm. Hamilton was flirting again, and while she had to admit that it wasn't altogether unpleasant, she was unaccustomed to the amount of attention she received from the young lieutenant. "Charlotte is my truck."

"Of course," he replied in mock realization. "How foolish of me."

"Come on. Don't you have a name for your tank or something?" Heather asked.

"My tank?"

"Your tank. I know all you army boys have your own tanks. The Allied government must keep you well-supplied."

Hamilton enjoyed hearing the teasing tone in Heather's voice, but there was something in her eyes that indicated disapproval. Her expression changed as soon as she mentioned the A.S. government. A part of him wanted to call her on it, to try to make her understand why he'd shifted loyalty. It probably shouldn't have mattered what Dorothy thought; she wasn't there. She had not seen and heard what he had, but bother him it did.

He took a deep breath. There would be time enough for serious conversations later. For now, he wanted to enjoy what little time he did have with his Dorothy from Kansas before he had to head out. "I have somethin' to confess," Hamilton said, his voice lowering as he tilted his head down conspiratorially. "I do have a tank. It's named Bocephus."

"Bocephus?" Heather echoed in disbelief.

"After the great one, Hank Williams, Jr."

A smile curled on Heather's lips, and she began to laugh lightly.

"There's that smile."

Heather folded the paper once and tucked it in Hamilton's shirt pocket. "And there's the message," she replied. "You have to know that I'm not used to so much attention."

"I'm not used to givin' so much attention, Dorothy, but you are different." And she was. Heather Lisinski was the first woman Jacob Hamilton had met in ages that he could imagine taking home to meet his family and enjoying the simple things in life with, such as sitting on the front porch, just taking pleasure in each other's company. "I'd like to call on you when I return, if you'd allow it."

Heather nodded. "I'd like that."

"Good. Before I forget," he pulled the ledger from his pocket, "this is for you."

"What is it?" Heather asked, taken aback by the thin, leather bound book.

"Military issue Buffalo credits. You can use it at any of the stores in town that'll accept the credits. It's a little like a gift certificate. It's not much, but it'll help you get back on your feet and get a few things you might be needin'." He could see the confusion and disbelief etched on her features. "You should've gotten one of these yesterday, but someone dropped the ball."

"Are these being issued to everyone?"

Hamilton shook his head. "Nah, just those with special situations, like yourself." He wasn't about to tell her, for fear that she would refuse the ledger, but it wasn't for just anyone he'd empty a month's worth salary from his account.

"Thank you for the delivery," she replied fingering the ledger. "This will be very helpful."

_Small kindnesses, indeed._

"I'll see you soon, Dorothy." He turned to Mary. "Thank you for the tea, Ms. Bailey."

"Call me, Mary."

"Thank you, Mary," he amended. Hamilton looked back to Heather, patted the pocket that held her message for Ted, and went on his way.

Heather looked to Mary who was watching Hamilton leave, her head tilted appreciatively. "Your young lieutenant has a really nice ass, Heather."

"Mary!"

"What? Am I not supposed to notice? I didn't say it was better than Eric's. Just that it's _nice_. He just seems too good to be true. Adorable and attentive. Is he the real deal?"

"I think he just may be," Heather replied with a small sigh. "I mean, I don't know him well yet, but…"

"You said _yet._" Mary's knowing grin made Heather want to duck back into the ladies room. "That means you're planning to get to know him."

"Yeah, I suppose I am."

"Good for you! I'm glad to see you're branching out." Mary leaned on the bar toward Heather. "Let him give Jake a run for his money."

Heather lowered her voice. "Mary, there's no competition. Jake is just a friend. He and Emily…"

"Have been torturing each other and themselves off and on for years. I know, I know," she replied with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

Heather pursed her lips, not liking the direction the conversation had taken. "Look, Emily is my friend. I want to see her happy. I want to see Jake happy."

"And you really think they'll be happy together? They haven't been yet." Heather frowned. "And what about your happiness, Heather? Being a martyr never got anyone anything."

Heather bristled. She opened her mouth to tell Mary that she wasn't the type of woman who stepped into other people's relationships, but caught herself. No good would come from opening old wounds. "I'm not being a martyr."

"I see the way you and Jake light up around each other. You just—I don't know—sparkle. That's a good word for it. But if you aren't willing to go for Jake, I'm glad you're going to give Lt. Hamilton a chance. I've known a lot of men in my time, and I can promise you that they don't make 'em like that anymore. Looks and personality."

Heather nodded. "I know."

"And," Mary added with a waggle of her eyebrow and a sly grin, "he seems like the kind of man who would keep you hot on cold winter nights."

"Well, spring is sprung," Heather replied as she stood from the barstool and shifted from one foot to the other. "I don't need him for warmth—or anyone for that matter." She looked back at the booth where Jake sat with Eric. She could stay in the frying pan with Mary or jump into the fire with Jake. It still didn't feel safe to be around Jake; she enjoyed his company, yes, but the problem was that she enjoyed it too much.

Mary watched where Heather's gaze had taken her. "Lt. Hamilton seems very safe. No complications, no entanglements there."

_Safe_. When Heather had stepped foot back in Jericho, she thought she'd made it to a safe haven. The incident with the man from New Bern showed otherwise. The world wasn't the same. _She_ wasn't the same.

Would someone come for her the way that man came for Tony Schubert? How long until the people of New Bern heard that she was back? Maybe there was a benefit to the lapse in communications, after all.

Heather shrugged. "There's no such thing as 'safe' anymore."

* * *

"So how did things turn out with the would-be assassin?" Heather asked trying to keep her voice casual as she settled back into the booth with Eric and Jake. Despite her best efforts to maintain her composure, the thought of the man from New Bern nearly getting away with murdering Tony Schubert on the street made her palms feel clammy and her throat parched. And what if the man had managed to turn his gun on Jake? Once again, Jake put himself out there, daring fate, daring death.

"Would-be assassin?" Eric repeated incredulously as he looked from Heather to his brother.

"Man from New Bern," Jake explained briefly.

"Another one?" Eric asked leaning back in the booth, concern etching itself on his features. "That's what? The fifth one in two weeks' time?"

"Sixth," Jake corrected.

"You okay?" Eric asked turning to Heather. He was surprised she hadn't mentioned it earlier when they met up, but there were so many issues that had come up, Eric thought she must've been running on automatic.

She, in turn, nodded. "There was no bloodshed, thankfully." Their eyes met, a shared understanding passing between them.

Jake picked up on the existence of an unspoken message but not the message itself. They were withholding something. What? He couldn't be sure, but from the doleful expression on Heather's face and the concerned look on Eric's, Jake knew it was something signficant.

"I'll talk to some of the men," he said to Heather and then focused on Jake. "We'll get the Rangers to redouble their efforts."

Jake frowned, a motion that did not go unnoticed by his brother. "What?" Eric asked. "_What?_" he repeated.

"Nothing," Jake replied sullenly not wanting to have that particular conversation then and there.

"I hate it when you do that."

"I'm not doing anything," Jake groused.

"Please don't tell me. Not another argument," Heather interrupted. "Of course, this is coming from a girl who has no siblings, but I thought once you grew up, you were supposed to put aside petty bickering."

"That's just on TV and in self-help books," Eric said with a shake of his head. "Besides, Jake's still not grown up yet."

"I'm nearly two years older than you are, so what does that say about you, Eric?" Jake turned to Heather. "Going back to your original question, he's in Beck's custody, but Beck's following standard operating procedures."

"Which means?"

"They get held until they cool off," Eric explained. "Then they get returned to New Bern to regroup and try again."

"Oh," Heather replied numbly. She wondered if Hamilton's mission to New Bern involved returning the man who tried to kill Tony Schubert. "That's just…" her voice trailed off. "When will it end?"

"Blood feuds don't end overnight," Jake commented. He, more than anyone else, knew that. If the opportunity ever came to get his hands on Constantino without endangering his town or his family, he'd welcome the chance to put a final end to that particular feud.

Heather sighed. "They sure don't. We were all there. We know what the people of New Bern were being told, the propaganda, the lies, that Phil Constantino had them all believing. I almost think that if we had a way to reach out to those people who were our friends, we could begin healing, but we can't even make a flipping telephone call."

Jake grew alarmed. "You aren't planning on going back are you?"

The intonation of Heather's voice left little doubt. "Please. Give me _some_ credit."

"Sorry," Jake shrugged.

"So I saw that lieutenant give you something," Eric interjected, changing the subject.

"Um, yeah. A ledger of Buffalo Credits. Military issue, he said."

"God, I hate those things," Eric groaned. "They're putting a stranglehold on several of the merchants."

Heather frowned. "Do you think I shouldn't use them? I was thinking of going to see Mr. Steele over at the Appliance Mart." Heather looked to Jake. "I tried to get the heating element earlier, but he's not bartering anymore, and at the time, I didn't have any of these Buffalo Credits. Now I do."

Jake shook his head, stunned. Here was a woman who had little more than the clothes on her back, and she was willing to spend what little she did have on parts to repair his mother's hot water heater. "No, you should use those to get some things you need. I have another idea of where we can get the heating element we need for the hot water heater."

* * *

Once Jake and Heather made it through the military check point on the edge of town, the three-and-a-half mile drive to the ranch was uneventful. Nevertheless, Jake couldn't help but notice that Heather was clutching the steering wheel of her old truck so tightly, her knuckles were white. When they reached the gate, Jake quickly opened the truck door and slid out, key in hand for the lock. After unlocking and opening the gate, he was back in the truck, and the two drove up the gravel driveway.

"Are you sure your mom won't mind that we're basically cannibalizing the hot water heater from the ranch house?" Heather asked as she put the truck in neutral and pulled the emergency break.

Jake recalled hearing his mother's surprised screech coming from the bathroom the other day when she'd evidently stepped into a cold shower expecting a warm one. "Positive."

"I always thought it was so beautiful out here," Heather confided as she turned off the engine. Her eyes surveyed the green pastures and the grove of fruit trees in the distance. "I used to go running out this way. Back before…" Strange how life had gone on. Last fall and winter, spring had been difficult to imagine, but these pastures, like so many others, were beginning the renewal process. It had always thrilled Heather to see the dull browns of winter being replaced by the newness of spring. It used to be that spring held so many possibilities. Now, she wasn't sure what the future would hold.

"Yeah," Jake nodded when her voice trailed off. So many aspects of their lives were measured by the day the bombs hit. There was life before the bombs, which seemed in many ways like a distant memory, and then there was life since the bombs, a life in which even the simplest things they'd once taken for granted—like a jog in the countryside—could be extraordinarily dangerous.

"So did you spend much time out here when you were younger?"

"You could say that. Growing up, I helped with chores after school. Actually I lived out here for awhile," he explained pointing to the modest ranch style house. "The summer after my freshman year in college. Gramps and I—we were quite a pair." The faintest smile played upon Jake's lips at the thought of his grandfather.

"Mmmm, the two of you must've left a string of broken hearts," Heather teased. "E.J. Green was quite the charmer, and I'd say you took after him."

"You knew my grandfather?" Jake asked retrieving the bag of tools from the back of the truck before starting down the fork in the gravel road that led to the house.

Heather laughed, the sound of her mirth mingling with the crunching of the gravel under her feet. It felt good to be back here, to reminisce with Jake about someone who had been special to her. Well, to both of them. "Jake, _everyone _knew your grandfather. But let's just say that he rescued a damsel in distress once."

"Oh?" Jake considered Heather to be so self-sufficient, he found it difficult to believe that she'd ever been in need of rescuing—New Bern, notwithstanding.

"I was out this way running and turned my ankle. Actually, I sprained it pretty badly. He brought around his Gator to collect me. I felt like Terrell Davis being hauled off the field to go to the locker room for the umpteenth time—minus the obvious, of course—that I'm not a running back for the Broncos or a man." Heather frowned slightly. She was rambling again.

The two walked up the four steps and stopped on the front porch while Jake pulled the screen door open and inserted the house key into the front door. "I can totally see it. Gramps was so proud of his Gator. He used to ride around the ranch for hours on it, going from one end to the other." He looked back at Heather. "Of course, the chance to help a pretty girl probably made his day."

Heather felt her face grow warm from Jake's compliment. _He thought she was pretty._ Normally, Heather didn't put that much thought into her appearance. She was always what she would consider low maintenance—if her hair and clothes were clean, she was good to go. Chapstick was her cosmetic of choice. Maybe the occasional mascara back in the day. So, no, she wasn't one who was prone to spend hours in front of the mirror studying her face or her body, but hearing Jake call her pretty made her heart do somersaults.

Jake walked inside, and Heather followed. The front door opened into a living room, accented with wood trim, rust colored carpet, and poplar boards crisscrossing the ceiling. A large, field stone surfaced fireplace consumed much of one of the walls. A series of framed photos were set along the mantle. The furniture –a sofa and two rocking chairs and end tables—were covered with sheets.

It was bittersweet stepping foot in the house again. It was both familiar and unfamiliar. One of the things she'd remembered so vividly about E.J. Green's house was that it always smelled of a combination of cinnamon and tobacco. Now it smelled stale, lifeless. That made sense. The person at the center of the place had been gone for quite awhile. It had been probably three years since Heather had been there.

She looked to Jake who seemed less affected than herself. Of course, he'd probably been there countless times since his return to Jericho.

Heather walked to the mantle and saw a photo of E.J. with Johnston and Eric. The three men were dressed in tuxedos, and Eric—minus his beard—wore a boutonniere on his lapel. It must've been from Eric's wedding. But where was Jake?

She turned back and looked back at him. "He was a shameless flirt, your grandfather." Her eyes lit up with amusement. "I remember E.J. telling Roger that he was going to steal me away from him."

Jake did a double take. "Hold on a sec'. You dated Roger? For real?"

"For like two seconds." With an exaggerated sigh, Heather added, "The truth of the matter is that Roger just couldn't stand the stiff competition. He folded under the pressure."

Jake's eyes widened. "You and Roger?"

"When he first moved to Jericho, just a few weeks after I did, we lived in the same apartment building. Turns out that was about the only thing we had in common. We went on one date at the Pizza Garden. _Total _disaster. Of course, it was the Pizza Garden, so I should've known."

"Hey, I liked the Pizza Garden," Jake interjected.

"Hmmm. Maybe it was this date that left a bad taste in my mouth where the Pizza Garden is concerned, pun intended. We hadn't even ordered our drinks before I was wishing I'd set up some kind of rescue line, a pre-planned 'emergency' of some sort."

Jake groaned. "Don't tell me you use the 'rescue call' method."

"Hardly, and that was the source of my problem. Lucky for me, help arrived in the form of—" Heather stopped abruptly.

"In the form of…?"

She clasped her hands together. "I'm sorry. This is just weird."

"Well, you can't stop the story there."

"Yes, I can. Storyteller's prerogative."

"Heather…"

Heather fidgeted with her fingers and picked at the side of her right thumb, a nervous habit. "In the form of Emily," she blurted out. "Emily was there getting takeout. I didn't realize she was there at first, but I saw Roger looking behind me, off to the side. I turned, and there she was."

"He was on a date with you and looking at other women?" Jake's posture stiffened.

Heather shrugged. "I probably should have been upset that my date was ogling my best friend, but all I could think was, 'Thank you God for small favors.' I invited her to join us, and the two of them hit it off. I left as soon as it was polite to do so." She stopped and reflected for a moment. "Well, maybe a little _before_ it was polite, but they definitely didn't need me."

"So let me get this straight. Your first date with Roger was actually…"

"Emily's first date with Roger. Yeah, that's been a running joke with us for years."

Jake grimaced. Heather was so nonchalant about the experience, but Jake found it unsettling. Emily had to have known Heather was on a date with Roger. So how could she willingly engage her best friend's date in flirtation?

Heather misinterpreted his frown.

"Gosh, Jake, I'm sorry. That was a really long time ago. Emily is not pining for Roger. I ran into her earlier, and she's…she's really happy that the two of you are back together and that you're getting married."

Jake's brows furrowed. "Where did you hear that?"

"Emily," Heather replied, her eyes nervously darting between the floor and Jake's face. "I saw her earlier today. She told me."

Jake's jaw clenched. "Unbelievable." He pulled the front door open and walked out onto the porch, leaning his hands against the railing and bending his body. Heather followed.

"I'm sorry. Was it supposed to be a secret? Because I accidentally told Eric, thinking that he knew." Heather nervously bit at her lip. "I kinda wish you would've told me." She spoke in such a small voice, one tinged with disappointment—or was that sadness?—it made Jake feel like his heart skipped a beat.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to look at Heather. For the first time, Jake could see the hint of sadness that he'd heard in her voice. Her blue eyes, while they normally twinkled, seemed to show resignation. Part of him—a rather large part—wanted to reach out to her, but reason won over, and Jake found himself clutching the banister instead.

"Heather, Emily and I are _not_ getting married."


	13. Chapter 11, Part A

**Chapter 11, Part A: The Committee**

"Heather, Emily and I are _not_ getting married."

"Oh." She pressed her lips together and shook her head before saying, "If this is because you think Emily still has feelings for Roger, I can assure you that relationship is long over. She loves you, not Roger."

Jake groaned, took off down the steps, and kicked at the gravel in the driveway. The anger in him was building to a boiling point. Heather was too good of a person to see what Emily had done, but Jake understood the darker side of human nature all too well. More than that, he understood Emily Sullivan.

"Jake…," Heather began soothingly.

"You are a hell of a better friend than she deserves!"

Heather looked away, staggered by the set of his jaw and the vehemence she heard in his voice. "You don't mean that. Roger was…Roger was after you left." She cringed slightly, mentioning Jake's leaving town. It was such a sore spot for Emily and she suspected it was for Jake, as well. She couldn't help but feel, though, that there was more to that story than she heard from Emily. It was almost like completing a fill-in-the-blank test without a word bank.

"This isn't about Roger," he insisted. "This is about Emily telling you that we're getting married when she knows that marriage is…" He'd been a screw up most his life, but one of the things he took seriously and didn't screw with was marriage. Of all things, he wanted to get it right, the way his parents had, the way his grandparents had. "…it's not something we're ready for. This is about Emily making you think something that's not true."

Heather began replaying her conversation with Emily in her mind. How had Em put it? "_We're engaged"_ weren't the exact words. Emily had just told her that she and Jake had been together for a month, that it wasn't based on grief or convenience. Her friend had assured her that she didn't want to hurt her, but … _"Jake is the man I'm going to marry." _

Heather felt foolish. She had been so emotionally wrapped up in their conversation, she failed to comprehend what Emily told her. Emily's words weren't an announcement of an engagement; they were more an announcement of her intentions. Guilt washed over Heather as she looked at Jake, his jaw still clenched. "This is my fault. She said that you were the man she was going to marry, and I made the leap."

But the look of anger on his features didn't dissipate. She continued, "I am _so_ sorry. I've put you in a really awkward position. But please don't be upset with her. Emily just…"

But even as Heather said the words trying to defend her friend, nagging doubts were infiltrating her mind. In retrospect, Emily had gone out of her way to alternately stake her claim to Jake and tear him down in Heather's eyes. And to what end? The way Emily spoke, making it abundantly clear that she and Jake were together in every way, marriage was a foregone conclusion.

Or was it?

The renewed relationship between them had seemed to come so quickly, and Emily had been very defensive when Heather questioned the timing. Heather swallowed hard. Was Emily trying to ward her off from him? Was she threatened? And if she was threatened, that could only mean…

Heather's eyes widened as she turned away from him.

Jake shook his head. "No, this isn't your doing." He shoved his hands in his pocket. "What Emily said she said for a reason."

Heather shook her head in disgust. All those things that Emily told her which didn't add up she'd been willing to overlook because she trusted in her friend. For that matter, she'd been willing to brush aside her own feelings because she wanted Emily to have happiness in her life. To think that she'd stood and blindly defended Emily to Jake… To think that she'd felt guilty when all along she was being manipulated…

Heather took a deep breath and turned to face him again. "Right. And we both know what that reason is."

Jake's brows arched. Was Heather saying what he thought she was saying?

"Don't look so surprised. It's like a 12 step program. Once I get through the stages of denial and Pollyanna-itis , my logic kicks in. Then what is clear to everyone else breaks through my naïveté and starts to compute."

"Are you okay?" he asked. Rather than anger, when Heather looked at Jake, she could see his concern.

What a loaded question. On the one hand, knowing that Jake and Emily weren't getting married alleviated the heaviness that had weighted down her heart since she encountered Emily earlier that day. On the other hand, she felt guilty for being happy that there was no wedding on the horizon. Didn't that give credence to Emily's concerns? And then there was the matter of her friendship. That Emily would try to deceive her tore at Heather.

"I'm fine," she insisted as she looked away from Jake and back toward the house. "I'm going to get started on the hot water heater."

Her expression was passive, and it worried Jake. He'd seen it only during those times when she was trying to mask her feelings about something. The first day he met her—that day of the bombs, which seemed so long ago—she'd put on a brave face for the benefit of her students, despite her own injuries, despite her own fears. Then yesterday when they stood outside her burned out apartment building, last night when she found out that he and Emily were back together, and now with this: knowing Emily had manipulated her. A part of him wanted to tell her that it was okay to be angry, that it was okay to cry or want to throw something, but would that make things better or worse for her? Jake wanted to be someone she could turn to, but he also recognized that he was part of the problem as much as he would like to be part of the solution.

"I'll show you where the heater is," Jake replied. He was tempted to coax the key to Charlotte from Heather, drive back to town, and ream out Emily. But as he looked around the ranch, he saw chores that needed doing. More importantly, he saw the person he wanted to be around, and her name wasn't Emily Sullivan.

Heather climbed the small steps and walked back into the house, willing the tumult within her to calm. She would speak with Emily later, once she had the chance to gain her wits about her, but for now, there were other tasks at hand.

Jake followed. "This way," he said, tilting his head in the direction of the hallway. It was Heather's turn to follow him, and she did—down the hallway toward the bathroom.

_'Here we go again,'_ Heather thought, now that they once again found themselves together in a bathroom. Under different circumstances, she might have found their locale amusing. As it was, Heather didn't know what to say to Jake. So she said very little as she worked to get her bearings straight and prepared to get the heating elements extracted.

They worked well together, though fairly quietly, repeating most of their actions from earlier in the day, carrying out the draining of the stale water in the hot water heater.

After a few minutes, Jake spoke again. "While this is draining, I'm going to take care of the horses. Do you want to come?" Jake asked.

Heather paused before responding. Part of her thought she would benefit from some distance from Jake. It would be the sensible thing to do, to allow herself time to process what exactly he meant to her. But as she looked up at him, she couldn't form the words to tell him no. Instead she found herself nodding and speaking hesitantly. "Sure."

"So do you like horses?" Jake asked as they headed out of the house and walked toward the barn.

That was like asking her if she liked chocolate, the ocean, and power tools. Who didn't like horses? Her eyes lit up, and the dark cloud that had been looming over her mood lifted. "Please! You're talking to the girl who had a wide assortment of My Little Ponies as a child."

"My Little Ponies?" Jake asked choking back a sneer. "I always figured you as a Transformers kind of girl."

"Well, there was that phase. I had a huge crush on Optimus Prime, which I know is totally ridiculous because he was a cartoon, and I just told you way more than you ever needed to know, and I 

think now I'm going to talk about horses." Heather took a deep breath, suddenly very self-conscious of her ramblings.

But Jake wasn't willing to let it go so easily. "Hold up. I want to revisit this Optimus Prime crush."

"One of many childhood crushes, all of which are silly and not worth analyzing. But he was the only cartoon," Heather quickly added. She exhaled loudly. No wonder she grew up stripping wires instead of stripping clothes as a teenager. She nervously kicked at the gravel, wishing she could just sink into the ground and disappear. Why did she find herself saying the most ridiculous things around him? '_Can't I just once be cool and collected and_ normal_?'_

But as Heather looked at Jake, she noticed that he was smiling at her, not looking at her like she was an alien. _Oh, his smile. _Heather was convinced he had melted innumerable hearts just from that simple gesture. She loved to see him smile, loved how his brown eyes shined, how the cares of the world seemed to melt away. She knew then that she would do anything to keep him smiling.

Jake enjoyed getting these glimpses into Heather's past and just forgetting the craziness that surrounded them. She was unlike any other woman he'd ever known. Quirky, willing to not take herself so seriously, humble, smart as a whip, and sexy as hell in an unconventional way. He felt like he could lower his guard with her, that it was okay for her to see the other sides of his personality, the aspects that, for the better part of six months, he'd kept buried. He loved bantering with her, teasing her. "So who else made it onto your list?"

Heather shook her head. "My lips are sealed," she challenged.

"Let me guess. Kirk Cameron." Jake threw out a name that he was fairly certain would not have been on Heather's list hoping to get a reaction or clue from her.

Heather shook her head. "Wrong."

"New Kids on the Block."

"Please, Jake. A little more credit," Heather teased back.

"Johnny Depp."

"Hmmm. All things old are new again, but no. You're never going to guess, so you might as well give up."

"Give up? I'll never give up on you." Jake paused, and silence fell on them as they both realized his words could be taken in a number of ways. He cleared his throat.

"The Six Million Dollar Man," Heather said suddenly.

"What?" Jake asked, his mind still racing from what he'd just told her.

She spoke nonchalantly. "You wanted to know who was on my list, and I'm telling you. The Six Million Dollar Man."

Jake did a double-take. "Wasn't he before your time?"

"The magic of reruns." A small smile formed on her face, causing her dimples to appear, he noted.

"…And a little old for you?" Jake continued.

"Funny you should mention that. Lee Majors's fourth—or is it fifth?—wife is about my age. It seems I would've had a chance with him after all. Didn't you have any childhood crushes?" Heather stopped and looked Jake up and down as though evaluating him. "I'd say…Wonder Woman."

He groaned. "I'm pleading the Fifth."

Heather laughed. "Must've been her invisible jet that had your attention. You flyboys are all alike."

Jake cleared his throat. "So what were we talking about? Horses?"

"Or was it her magic lasso?" she continued mercilessly as she lightly elbowed him.

'_It was her dark hair and blue eyes,'_ Jake thought, but remained silent.

"I don't believe it," Heather marveled, her eyes shining.

"What?"

"For once, I have you flustered."

"I'm not flustered," Jake protested. Heather tilted her head, giving him a knowing look.

"Okay, Jake, I'm a pushover, so we'll go back to horses." They began walking again, slowly traversing the hundred feet or so that separated them from the barn. "After all, doesn't everyone like horses? There's something very graceful, very majestic about them. Though I have to admit, I haven't been around them very much. I've never ridden one."

Jake shot her a look of disbelief. "You're kidding me! You live in Kansas!"

A small smile played upon her lips. "Are you stereotyping me, Jake Green?"

He shook his head and returned a lopsided grin. "I know better than that."

Heather found herself beaming from his words and his expression. "Well, let's just say I was exposed to horse _power_ rather than _horses_."

"Still…" Jake teased.

"Hey! I'm my father's daughter, through and through. And Dad, well, he was a transplanted city kid when we moved to New Bern. And we lived in a house next to the church building where my father preached. So the chances to be around horses didn't exactly abound."

"It was practically ingrained in me," Jake replied. "I think at one point I rode better than I walked."

"That early, huh?"

"Some parents teach their babies to swim. My parents made sure I knew how to ride." Jake's eyes surveyed the horse barn. It looked as it should, and there was no ostensible sign of other visitors, such as the Pool Guy. "Gramps was all for that."

"Of course. It kept you close. Your grandfather talked about you with me, by the way."

Jake groaned. "I can only imagine."

"It wasn't _that_ bad." Strange how being back in this place brought back memories of conversations she thought she'd long forgotten. Her friendship with E.J. Green had begun, just as she'd told Jake, when he'd assisted her when she sprained her ankle running along the road that fronted the ranch on one side of the property. She'd brought chocolate chip cookies to him first as a thank you and then as a habit when she discovered that her life was far less lonely with him in it. She'd not known her grandparents well, both because she had been raised so far away from them and because they died long ago. Yet E.J. became the closest thing to a grandparent that she had. He was an incredible storyteller and wealth of information. His stories about his experiences in WWII, his escapades with airplanes, and the adventures of his grandchildren kept Heather entertained and made her feel like she was part of a something beyond herself. He'd even told Heather bits and pieces about Jake one night as they sat on the porch.

"_He's a handsome devil. Takes after his grandpa. He's got a good heart and a hard head. Wish he'd come back, meet you. Could use a nice girl to keep him grounded and I could use some great-grandchildren. But I suppose he won't be coming back. Not so long as he's mad at the world and not until he figures out the answer is right here, not out there somewhere."_

Jake's words penetrated Heather's memories. "But it wasn't all good. It couldn't have been."

"Jake, when your grandfather spoke of you, it was with a twinkle in his eye. He adored you. He was proud of you."

"I didn't exactly give him much to be proud of," Jake grimaced. "I let a lot of people down."

"But not him. I wish you could see yourself the way he saw you. The way _I_ see you."

A pained expression crossed Jake's features. "There's a lot about me that you don't know, Heather."

"I know enough," Heather replied. "I can sniff out the good guys from the bad guys." She laughed lightly. "I mean, I had enough sense to like Optimus Prime and the Six Million Dollar Man, right?"

"Is Lieutenant Hamilton one of the good guys?"

"I think he is."

"Even though he's working with the military? Occupying our town?"

"Is it an occupation, Jake?" Heather asked frowning. "I mean, if we wanted them to leave, wouldn't they?" She swallowed hard, the realization sinking in that in alerting the military to the New Bern War, she may have inadvertently made things worse. But then again, without the military intervention, would there even have been a Jericho for her to return to? There were no easy answers. No, nothing was easy like it used to be.

"Haven't asked yet, but the fact that they're still here…" his voice trailed off. "Look, I didn't mean to get caught up in this. There's a hell of a lot of craziness out there. But here," Jake said motioning around him, "is a break from all that. Let's enjoy it."

"It's a deal," Heather replied bending down to pick a spent dandelion. "Look. It's a wishie!"

"A what?"

Holding the stem, she brought the delicate sphere of white seeds between her fingers and held it in front of her face. "You know? A wishie. You make a wish, blow on it, and if you manage to blow off all the seeds in one gust, your wish is supposed to come true."

She was such a fascinating contradiction. On the one hand, she could be so knowledgeable and so no-nonsense. On the other hand, she sometimes got lost in reverie, taking him with her as a willing participant. The fact that she could still see so much beauty in the world after everything that had happened to her made Jake want to…God, what did he want to do? Protect her from the cruelties of the outside world? Protect her from himself, from the darkness that at times threatened to consume him? Or draw her close to him, sink himself into her, be surrounded by her light?

Heather was too good for him. He'd thought it last night as they danced, and he couldn't help but think it now. Jake had no doubt. She had brushed aside his warning that there were things from his past that marred his integrity, marred his conscience. Maybe she _had_ heard bits and pieces, but if she knew the whole story, would she be so willing to walk by his side? Would she be able to smile at him still, or would the looks she gave him be filled with disappointment and recrimination?

"You look so serious! I thought we made a deal to just enjoy the day. And it was _your_ idea, as I recall."

"We did," he conceded.

"Then just enjoy it. There is so much beauty here, so much that is right about this place."

"Sure is," he agreed, his eyes focused on her. She was beautiful—inside and out—and so completely oblivious to that fact.

She played with the stem of the dandelion, rolling it between her fingers, and felt emboldened. "I'm glad I'm here with you." There. She said it. No more pretending Jake didn't matter when he did.

Jake let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. "I'm glad I'm here with you, too." Maybe she was too good for him, but he wasn't about to walk away. Not now. Not when he wanted to know everything about her, was hungry for knowledge. Not when she looked at him with those big blue eyes that made me feel warm inside.

He was safe with Heather—and safety had never been so enticing.

Jake watched as she blew the delicate dandelion clock. He suspected the only thing she was accomplishing was the spreading of the seeds, but he couldn't help but ask her teasingly, "Did you get your wish?"

She let the stem drop back to the ground. "I'll let you know."

They stopped outside the barn, and Jake pulled the latch to open it. The two walked inside, and Heather was immediately greeted by the curious stares of the animals inside. The barn certainly smelled, well, like a barn—a combination of straw and animals. But there was something surprisingly pleasant about the surroundings. Heather felt as though she'd stepped back into a simpler time, a time without bombs and mortar shells, a time before they had to wonder whether their government was the enemy or the ally. Jake was right. Being here, one could easily forget the madness of the outside world.

"So this Lieutenant Hamilton…" Jake began as he walked to collect the horses' water buckets from their stalls.

Heather crossed her arms and gently admonished him. "Mmmm, didn't we already talk about this? Didn't we decide that your relationship with Emily and my—whatever it is—with Hamilton are off limits?"

Maybe this particular challenge called for a different tactic. "No, no, no. _You_ decided. It didn't come up before the committee."

"The committee?" Heather questioned.

Jake nodded toward the four horses and set down the buckets. "Yeah. The committee. Apollo here," Jake said patting the quarter horse's neck, "is the chairman."

Heather laughed. "Since when do you do anything by committee?"

"Since I'm not getting my way," Jake replied with a grin. "So we can put this up for a vote. If the committee agrees with me, you've got to tell me about this lieutenant."

"Jake, I hate to break it to you, but these horses aren't Mr. Ed. They don't talk."

"Do you know much about horses?"

"The basic stats. Mammal. Lots of bones. Be careful not to overfeed them."

"See, there's a little known fact that horses are among the most intelligent mammals. They talk; you just gotta know how to listen." He looked at the animals lined in parallel stalls. "Who here thinks Heather should tell me everything I want to know?"

As if on cue, the horses began to nicker and snort.

"Unbelievable!" Heather exclaimed, her eyes widening at the sight.

"Told you they talk," Jake replied, inordinately pleased with himself.

Heather turned to face him, amusement mingling with accusation. "I wasn't talking about them. I was talking about _you_! You did something to make them do that!"

"Who? Me?" Jake's fingers splayed across his chest in a gesture of exaggerated innocence.

"Yes, you. And don't give me that innocent _'Who? Me?'_ I know better, Mister."

Jake held up his hands, chuckling. "I don't have anything on me."

Heather walked up to him, grabbed his right hand, and sniffed it. "Then why does your hand smell like peppermint? Jake Green, did you flash those horses mints to get them to react?"

"Would I do something like that?"

"Empty your pockets," Heather ordered pointing her finger at him. "Or I'm going in."

Jake raised an eyebrow. A part of him would've liked to see Heather try. "If I do, you have to tell me what I want to know."

"And what do I get out of this?"

"Whatever you want to know."

"What you and Stanley did to Principal Gerhardt?" Heather asked.

Jake looked pained at the thought but finally responded, "Deal." He pulled red and white peppermints from his jean pockets. "Guilty as charged."

"I knew it!"

"Yes, you did," Jake admitted. "I'll never be able to fool you, will I?"

Heather smiled; then his words sank in. Within them was the promise of a future, more moments like this. But there would be no more times like this. This would not be their habit.

She didn't want to think of that. Clearing her throat, she brought the conversation back to a different topic. "So back to Lieutenant Hamilton. What do you want to know about him?"

"Is he good to you?" The gently teasing tone had faded to a more serious one as his playful gaze became more intense. Heather thought he could bore a hole through her with that look.

"So far. Yeah, he is." Jacob Hamilton was a breath of fresh air. So open, so decent. He appreciated her—and after what she'd been through, it was nice to be appreciated, but there wasn't really that much to tell. "I don't really know him that well."

"So it's not serious." Jake dropped a peppermint in each horse's stall.

"Well, I am madly in love with him. We've picked out our china patterns and we're planning a June wedding. Does that answer your question?" she deadpanned.

"So I shouldn't expect another new roommate anytime soon." It was a statement, not a question. "Good thing."

"I know. I heard about the walls," Heather said, recalling the earlier conversation she'd had with Emily, a conversation that was the poster child for Too Much Information.

"The walls?"

"Nevermind," Heather replied, brushing aside his question. The situation with Emily was tenuous enough. There was no need to add fuel to the fire. "It's too soon to be serious with Hamilton."

"But you could see it potentially becoming serious. You could see a future with this guy?"

"I'm not going to get ahead of myself. I'm just taking everything one step at a time, taking it as it comes."

"How much does he know about what's going on out there?"

"He's told me bits and pieces, but I don't think he's told me anything that you don't already know. We've mostly kept things on a more personal basis. Family, friends, that type of thing."

"Oh? And has my name come up?"

"What if it has?" Heather asked.

"Well…"

Heather looked at the horses. "The committee has only so much power, Jake, especially considering that you bribed them. Now, it's time to pay the piper. I seem to recall a certain promise for you to divulge information."

"Ah, yes. The infamous pig incident."

"Pig?"

"Percival Isaac Gerhardt."

"Show no mercy Percy."

"I couldn't stand that man. Over the years, I've thought back to high school, figuring that my views of it and him would change. Can't say they have. I wanted to leave him with a little something to remember me by before graduation. I dragged Stanley into it."

"Which probably wasn't very difficult," Heather noted.

"Not particularly. So we borrowed a pig from Mr. Gilbert's farm."

Heather's eyes widened. "By borrowed, you mean stole."

Jake shrugged. "All semantics. But what we did…."

* * *

Lieutenant Jacob Hamilton stood outside a single-wide trailer in one of the residential neighborhoods of New Bern. After having been in New Bern for several hours, Hamilton couldn't discern anything particularly special about the town. It looked like so many others he'd been through, from the looks of weariness on the faces of its citizens to the signs or wear and tear on buildings that were going unrepaired. And a fleeting thought entered his mind. He wondered when he'd grown accustomed to the devastation.

New Bern wasn't just any small city. It had waged war against its neighbor, and many had been caught in the crosshairs of that situation—including Heather.

Hamilton's hand moved to his shirt pocket. He could feel the letter Heather gave him still within the pocket. If he concentrated, he could almost remember how it felt when she placed it there.

_'Get your mind on the task at hand,'_ he warned himself. The trip to New Bern wasn't for the benefit of walking down Heather's memory lane. He'd been sent to deliver Jack Yeargan home, along with a stern warning. Though Hamilton hadn't been present at the time, he'd been informed of the incident involving this man, how he pursued Tony Schubert on Main Street, how Jake Green spotted Yeargan's weapon and subdued him. Personally, Hamilton thought it was patently ridiculous to return a man with a vendetta back to freedom, essentially guaranteeing he had another chance to exact his revenge. No amount of stern warnings would dissuade Yeargan. Hamilton had enough personal experience with that to know.

Lifting his right hand to the door to knock, Hamilton was more than mildly surprised when he heard a voice from inside call out, "I don't want any trouble. I've done nothing wrong." The man on the other end of the voice sounded anxious to the point of fearful.

Hamilton responded loudly so as to be heard through the door. "I'm Lieutenant Jacob Hamilton, A.S.A. Army. I'm not lookin' for trouble. I'm lookin' for Ted Lewis."

"What do you want with him?"

"I have a message for Mr. Lewis from an old friend of his."

"And old friend you say? Who's that?"

"Heather Lisinski," Hamilton called back through the door.

The door swung open, and the wiry man on the other side looked at Hamilton warily. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair stuck out in different directions, and several days' worth of stubble was spread across his cheeks and chin. "Heather Lisinski is dead." When he spoke, his voice came out as a near croak. A pained expression crossed his features.

"Heather's alive, Ted," Hamilton said, no doubt in his mind that the man before him was indeed Ted Lewis. "She made it back to Jericho a coupla days ago."

Ted pulled the door open, stood aside, and motioned for the lieutenant to go inside. Hamilton did and watched as Ted closed the door, but not before the anxious man peered around the side of the mobile home to see if anyone else was with the soldier. "I can't believe it," Ted stated, somewhat in a daze. "We were told…" his voice trailed off. "After everything that happened, I had no reason to believe she'd be kept alive."

A chill ran through Hamilton. Something in the other man's tone alarmed him. "What do you mean?"

Ted shook his head. "I don't know what I mean." Like that, the question was brushed aside. "Is she…is she okay?"

"She's fine. Been through a lot but doin' okay. She gave me a letter to give to you," Hamilton said retrieving the folded paper from his pocket. "Phones're not workin' to call out of Jericho."

Ted eagerly grasped the paper from the officer, unfolded it, and devoured Heather's words. After reading it, he held the letter gingerly. "I've um…I've got some of her things. Couldn't make myself throw them out. Don't know that she'll want them. The last time here in New Bern wasn't exactly a happy time for her."

"I've gathered," Hamilton responded. "But with times bein' as they are, she'd probably appreciated havin' them back."

"Yeah," Ted said absently, moving toward the small guest room to retrieve Heather's bag.

Hamilton watched as Ted disappeared and wondered, not for the first time, what was in her letter to him. For that matter, what had happened to her in New Bern that had his Dorothy quaking at the thought of this place, her hometown?

Suddenly, New Bern didn't look so ordinary anymore.

* * *

A few minutes later, Jake and Heather stood outside the barn with the committee chairman himself, Apollo. Jake held onto the quarter horse's reins. "Now one of the things you'll want to remember is never walk behind a horse. They can get spooked pretty easily, and when they get scared, they kick."

Heather smiled, remembering Max, a student she had her first year of teaching. What a trying time that had been! New in town, up to her eyeballs in lesson plans and papers to grade, bustling with ideas she was trying to turn into reality, and attempting to find new and innovative ways to deal with Max McLean. She called him her little kicker because his feet could have been classified as lethal weapons. He was a pioneering child with games he invented, like Kick the Newly Planted Flowers, Kick the Books, Kick the Other Third Graders, Kick the Teacher. Compared to a sixty five pound child, Heather knew the kick from a horse would be much more potent and not something she would chance. "Got it. No walking behind the horse."

"When you get on, you want to get on the horse's left side," Jake continued. "Put your left foot in the stirrup so that the ball of your foot is resting on the bottom of the stirrup," he instructed. Heather complied. "I'm going to give you the reins. Hold onto these with your left hand, and hold on to the saddle horn with your right hand."

Heather wasn't entirely sure what a saddle horn was, but as she looked at the saddle itself and noted the protruding area reminiscent of a horn near the front of the saddle, she figured it out fairly quickly. "Gotcha," Heather said.

"Now, you're going to swing your right leg over. Use your legs. Don't pull yourself up. Be sure to lift high enough so you don't kick Apollo."

Heather bit her bottom lip nervously as she nodded. It probably would have been easier for her if Jake would've just helped to lift her up, but she remembered the old cliché about giving the man fish versus teaching the man how to fish. Then again, fishing didn't involve trying to mount a behemoth.

Jake stood close ready to catch her if something went wrong. Testing the waters, she did a few tentative springs to gain momentum before lifting herself onto the quarter horse. "I did it!" Her eyes shone with glee. Then the realization that she knew absolutely nothing about what to do once she got there settled in. "Oh goodness, now what?"

A look of amusement filled his features. "I'm going to get on with you."

"Oh." Heather wasn't sure how he would manage to do that, but before she could think it through, he was there behind her, straddling the saddle.

Almost as soon as Jake mounted behind Heather, he was starting to rethink his teaching methods. He'd intended to maintain a respectful distance from her—and certainly when he'd initially thought it would be easier to show her how to ride a horse in this manner he'd not questioned the advisability of his actions. Now he did. Seeing the curve of her neck, fighting the temptation to wrap his fingers around the stray tendrils of hair that had fallen from her ponytail, wanting to touch her skin—the impulses were coming fast and hard.

Heather felt as though her heart would leap from her chest. _'This is getting ridiculous,'_ she scolded herself. _'You can't go to pieces every time he gets near you.' _

But the feeling of his warm breath against her cheek, his body so close to hers that she had to stop herself from sinking back into his arms, and his inner thighs against her hips had her mind racing and her heart pounding. No amount of self-chastisement could combat her natural reaction to Jake Green. And then it hit her. She didn't want to fight against what she was feeling. Being near him felt good. No, that's not right. It was better than good; it was incredible.

"The trick to riding a horse is balance. Start by sitting in the middle of the saddle with your legs hanging loose on either side like you're doing."

"I can handle that." But she felt like her head was spinning. Balance? How could she possibly feel balanced having him so close to her?

"Okay. Now I want you to slide your feet into the stirrups. The widest part of your feet should rest in the stirrups. Your heels should be angled down but not pressed down."

Heather nodded as she slid her feet into the stirrups. "Like this?"

Jake looked down. "A little further back." Her legs looked amazing, stretched out and clad in denim. "You're perfect." His shook his head slightly. "That's perfect," he amended. "You're doing a good job not swiveling your feet. Keep that up. You don't want your toes pointing in."

"So what do I do with these?" Heather asked holding up the reins lightly. She turned her head and looked over her shoulder stunned by the storminess she saw in his eyes.

Jake reached forward, arms cocooning her, and covered her small hands with his larger ones. His fingers tangled with hers as he worked to position the reins properly in her grasp. "Here," his voice dropped, volume replaced by huskiness. "I usually just hold both reins in one hand and leave the other free." He moved her fingers so that reins fell between her pinkie and ring fingers.

Heather found it difficult to form words to respond, so all she could do was nod. His voice—his beautiful, smooth voice had her mesmerized. Truth be told, he could be reciting multiplication tables, and she'd still feel drawn to him. Having him so close, to the point she could feel his heart pounding against her back, had her mouth dry and her limbs feeling cumbersome.

A shiver ran through Heather.

"You cold?" he asked.

For a brief moment, Heather entertained the notion of telling Jake she was cold in hopes he would envelop her in his warmth, but she pushed aside the idea. The last thing she wanted to be was one of those women who manipulated men to get what she wanted. Besides, it wasn't cold air that made her shiver. It was something else entirely.

"No, I'm good." Apollo was being incredibly patient, Heather thought, but she suspected that he was eager to stretch his legs in the field before them. "So now I know how to get on a horse, sit on a horse, and how to hold the reins. How do I get the horse to move?"

Jake, pleased that Heather wasn't shy about trying this new experience, chuckled before explaining the finer points of horse management.

Sometime later, Jake had mounted a different horse—Arrow—and Heather got to go it alone on Apollo. Jake had been an excellent teacher, though Heather was entirely certain that if her teachers in high school had been as handsome as he was, she would've been too distracted to learn. Heather noted that Jake did everything right, from explaining the steps, showing her how to cue the horse, and gradually releasing the responsibility to her. They rode Apollo around the inner pasture as Heather became acclimated to the procedures. While she couldn't say that she was entirely at ease as they now rode separately—it was comforting and thrilling to have him with her—she could truthfully say that she was getting the hang of it, and she was confident that with more practice, she'd grow to love horseback riding.

Beyond the inner pasture, and with her confidence bolstered, they rode in contentment around the perimeter of the ranch, making their way back around the Tacoma River, which provided one of the property's natural borders. It had been a long time since Heather had been this far out on the property. E.J. Green had taken her for a tour on his Gator a time or two, but this was entirely different.

"We should let them drink," Jake said halting Arrow near the shore. Heather followed his lead with Apollo.

"Stay there for just a second," Jake instructed as he dismounted his horse. Taking Arrow's reins he walked to Apollo and took the reins from Heather. "I'll hold him steady while you dismount."

Heather frowned.

"What?" Jake asked, seeing her expression.

"I was one of those kids who really liked to climb up trees but freaked out when it was time to climb down," she confessed.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you," he assured her.

Heather nodded. "I believe you, Jake. So, any tips?"

"Yeah. Don't fall." His expression was so straight-faced and his tone so flat, Heather was sure that if she'd had something to throw at him—other than herself—she would have.

"You are a _stinker_!" she protested, her words coming out in a mini-huff mingled with laughter.

"I've been called many things in my life, but I can honestly say this is the first time anyone has ever called me a stinker."

"To your face, maybe," she shot back.

He shook his head ruefully, stifling his own laughter. "What am I going to do with you?"

* * *

_to be continued in Chapter 11, Part B..._


	14. Chapter 11, Part B

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

A special thanks goes out to Skyrose, my wonderful Beta reader.

* * *

**Chapter 11, Part B: The Age Old Question**

Heather's face hurt from smiling and she was fairly certain she was going to be bowl-legged, but she wouldn't have traded that afternoon spent on the horses for anything in the world. Though the sun was starting to be obscured by the clouds that were rolling in, casting shadows on the landscape around them, Heather was able to estimate it to be nearly five o'clock. Yet it had seemed like only minutes had passed rather than hours. They would have to leave soon, as soon as they groomed the horses, tended to them otherwise, and removed the heating elements from the hot water heater. The latter should, Heather thought, be fairly simple, as they'd already let the water drain from the unit.

And then it would be back to reality.

But what was reality? What was she going to do? She couldn't live with the Greens forever, but her options were limited. Currently, she had no job to speak of. School wasn't in session, but even if it were, Heather doubted that she would be welcomed back with open arms. Tensions still ran high between Jericho and New Bern—as evidenced by the assassination attempt earlier in the day—and Heather was concerned that people would look at her with suspicions.

And then there was Emily.

Some part of Heather understood why Emily acted as she did. Emily had once described growing up as trying to survive a dog-eat-dog world. Emily was, at heart, a good person. Of that, Heather was convinced. Nevertheless, Heather did have to acknowledge that part of Emily's more recent foray into respectability, particularly since her engagement to Roger, was based upon the fact that she could afford to be nice. Yet when the chips were down, Emily reverted to what she knew—and what her father, either through words or deed, had taught her worked when it came to matters of the heart. For as much as Emily talked of hating her father, Heather couldn't help but notice that they both had the same gritty determination. But regardless of what influence Jonah Prowse may have had on Emily, Heather couldn't overlook the fact that at some point, Emily made her own choices. And one of those choices involved making misleading statements to try to direct Heather away from Jake.

Heather wasn't sure what would happen with Emily. She didn't even know what to say to her friend anymore. When she stopped and thought about it, hurt and anger coursed through her, but other than that, she had some other less clear cut feelings. Heather loved Emily, but she didn't like her very much at the moment. At the same time, she felt bad for Emily and the fact that her actions reeked of desperation. So, no, that situation was far less than clear cut.

What Heather did know beyond a doubt was that she was absolutely crazy about Jake. She'd been fighting her feelings for him since she'd left for New Bern, all the while trying to talk herself out of feeling anything for him. Returning to Jericho had been a rollercoaster of emotions, but at the end of the day, she was left with this thought: there may have been innumerable uncertainties in her life, but her life seemed much brighter with him in it.

Heather found herself looking over at him. He was ridiculously handsome, to be sure, but there was something else that drew her to him. _'Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same.'_ That was what Emily Bronte wrote so many years before, secreting away lines of prose and the dreams for her life that she let pass before her eyes. Heather didn't want to let him pass before her eyes with so many things unsaid. But did she have the right to want more than friendship with him?

Jake sensed her gaze upon him and rewarded her with a lopsided smile. When he looked at her like that, she dared to hope that he felt the same way for her as she felt for him. She had some inkling that he did; otherwise, why would Emily have been so threatened? But knowing there was an attraction and acting on it were two different beasts. And with everything so up in the air with Emily…

Heather frowned. Twenty years. They'd been together off and on for two decades. They were two kids who'd grown up together, loved one another, fought like cats and dogs, and still kept coming back for more. Jake had turned to Emily as a source of comfort and strength after the death of his father. Surely that spoke to the trust Jake was willing to put in her. But then why, after all that time, didn't they have their acts together? Jake had made it exceedingly clear that he and Emily were not getting married. So if they weren't moving toward that, why were they together exactly? Was it habit? Gravitation toward shared misery? Sex?

Heather gripped Apollo's reins more tightly.

Jake noticed Heather's grip on the reins, reminded of how she'd gripped Charlotte's steering wheel earlier in the day. The wall was coming up again; he could perceive it as though it was a tangible barrier. He could see it in her posture, in the set of her jaw, in the expression of her eyes.

That afternoon had been one of best of his life, not for its complications, but for its simplicity. They were just two people who enjoyed one another's company. They'd done nothing out of the ordinary—just exercised the horses. But Jake had found himself reveling in the easy laughter, the gentle teasing, and the goodness that was Heather Lisinski. Jake hated to see it slip away from him, but the closer they came to the barn, the closer they were to returning to the demands and problems that awaited them in Jericho.

Problems were nothing new. They'd existed before the bombs, and they'd existed since. Only the variety and severity differed. Jake remembered the time the Tacoma River flooded in the spring of 1988, the hours upon hours spent sandbagging, and how the county had been declared a disaster area. When the Kansas Emergency Management auditors came, Johnston had quickly become aggravated with the bureaucrats who gave flowery promises and lacked common sense. His dad had muttered under his breath, "The nine most terrifying words in the English language are, 'I'm from the government and I'm here to help.' Damn well wish Reagan wasn't right 90 of the time."

At least back then, they hadn't needed to worry about the motives behind the help that arrived, just the execution of that help. Now, when Jake thought of Beck and his assertion, "The nightmare is over. Order will be restored," Jake couldn't help but feel apprehensive.

The thought of relying upon the Cheyenne government for their needs troubled Jake, but that was what Jake observed more and more. If what Hawkins believed was true—and too many things seemed to be pointing in that direction—the Cheyenne government was responsible for the attacks that wiped out twenty-three cities and killed millions of people. Indirectly, the attacks had a hand in the deaths of many more, including his father.

_His father._

Jake swallowed hard thinking of him. He was a bear of a man, and he would know what to do; he always did. Jake couldn't say that in times past he'd always appreciated his father's certainty, his rigid stance on issues, but the man had some things going for him that few did. He was decisive, quick to assimilate information, and he had integrity.

Jake wasn't foolhardy enough to think that every decision came easily to his father; in fact, he knew they hadn't, but Jake would've given anything to have his father here. It worried Jake when he thought how willing Gray Anderson was to let the military have the run of the town. He wasn't sure if it was fatigue or stupidity that prompted Gray's lack of discretion. Nevertheless, Jake could almost hear what his father would tell his successor. 'There's no such thing as a hero on a white horse. Jericho's got to learn to be self-reliant, Gray. To sit back hoping that Cheyenne is here to help, that it's somehow them who will make things right, is to go on feeding a crocodile. You can hope that he'll eat you last, but you're guaranteed that sooner or later, he will eat you.'

No, Johnston Green had not believed in big government and had been, in general, hesitant to put his trust in government programs or subsidies, something that many would have found ironic as he was involved in politics for the better part of his life in one capacity of another, first as the son of Mayor E.J. Green and then as mayor himself for a quarter-century. His father would've found a way to keep them from being beholden to Cheyenne, but now that the genie was out of the bottle, what was there for them to do?

Jake didn't have any immediate answers, but he planned to get them. Tomorrow, he would go to Beck and accept the position of sheriff. He would ingratiate himself with the Army if that meant he could keep tabs on what they were doing. The time would come when Hawkins would call again, need something again. Jake only hoped he was in a position to keep himself and those he cared about safe.

_Those he cared about…_

Jake's thoughts returned to Heather. He wanted her to be safe, for her to be okay, but there were so many things that suggested she was otherwise. Her comment about the lack of bloodshed earlier in the day and the look that passed between her and Eric had Jake troubled. His brother knew something that he didn't, and Jake wanted to know what it was. If he did, perhaps he could help Heather get beyond what happened in New Bern.

Whatever was happening between them now was so new, and Jake couldn't help but be almost overwhelmed by the intense feelings she elicited. It was akin to being hit by a brick wall, only it was infinitely more pleasurable to be near Heather. Some part of him felt like he was being granted a second chance, and he had no intention of squandering it, not like he had before.

Jake still remembered the way his father had reamed him out for letting Heather go to New Bern. It had been nothing in comparison to the way he'd reamed himself out ever since. When he thought she'd died…

Did he have the right to feel that way about her? He'd asked himself that question more than once since her return. As maddening as Eric had been earlier, Jake had to admit to himself that his brother was right. He couldn't have it both ways. He couldn't expect to spend time with Heather and maintain a relationship with Emily, not feeling the way he did.

And then there was Emily. The night before, she had compared their relationship with a hamster wheel, always moving but going nowhere. Jake had to concede that she was on to something. He didn't regret having been in a relationship with her in the past, but he wondered if their most recent incursion into chartered territory was out of habit and the need for familiarity. Why, in the ten plus years that they were old enough and had opportunity to get married hadn't they? What held them back?

Emily made it clear what she needed from their relationship, but Jake wasn't ready to make the leap she wanted. If Heather hadn't come back, would he have been willing to go in that direction with Em? Almost as soon as the notion entered his mind, he knew the answer to it. _No._ The same issues that drove them apart time and time again still existed, no matter how much they tried to sweep them under the rug.

But there were new issues. Jake still couldn't fathom what in the hell Emily was thinking by trying to—what?—scare off Heather? Heather was his friend, first and foremost. She had next to nothing left of her existence before New Bern. For Emily to try to hurt her, to try to unsettle her more when she'd already lost so much, infuriated Jake.

So, yes, when they headed back to Jericho, they were headed back to trouble. But for now—for now Jake Green would revel in simplicity. "Penny for your thoughts," he offered, noting the look of intense concentration on her features.

They had the barn in sight, and Heather had enjoyed herself so much, she didn't want to delve into her less-than-pleasant thoughts with him. Maybe someday it would be a discussion they would have, but for now she was content to take pleasure in the day. Heather's expression softened into a smile. "This afternoon has been so much fun. I can't remember the last time I've laughed so much."

"You? Didn't think it was possible, but I've laughed so much my face hurts," he replied.

Her heart did a little somersault.

Once they got the horses groomed and settled in the barn, they headed back for the house. The atmosphere was changing. Literally. They could see it in the way the wind picked up and the speed at which the thickening clouds rolled. The sun was now obscured, and a chill replaced the warmth they'd felt earlier in the afternoon.

"Looks like rain," Jake commented.

"Who needs The Weather Channel when I've got Jake Green with me?" she teased him.

"That obvious?" he grinned back.

"So what are our chances?" Heather asked.

Jake looked up at the sky. "Fifty percent chance of rain."

"How do you figure that?"

"It's either gonna happen, or it's not."

"I don't think weather forecasts work that way," Heather protested as she climbed the steps of the ranch house's front porch.

Within a few minutes, Heather had removed the heating elements from the hot water heater and had closed up the control panel. A small part of her felt glum about removing the piece from E.J.'s house. So long as everything was in place, it gave the semblance that it was a home rather than an empty house. But now with the way things were happening, she suspected that there would be more of this. How long before the place was completely taken apart?

She sighed slightly at the thought.

When she walked back into the living room, she saw Jake standing at the fireplace mantle looking at the photographs. He appeared to be lost in thought.

"I love seeing the photographs," Heather commented. "Here and at your mom's home."

"It's your home, too, now," he commented. "Don't think my mom is going to let you go easily."

She shook her head. "I don't plan on overstaying my welcome."

Couldn't Heather see that she was just what the doctor ordered for his mom? To have someone else in the house to ease the lonely hours would be exactly what she needed. Other than his father's time in Vietnam, his parents had spent precious little time apart. It was a readjustment for his mom, an adjustment that Jake was convinced would come more easily with Heather around. And then there was the small matter that he didn't particularly want her to leave, either. "It's been hard on her since Dad." His voice trailed off.

"Not just on her," Heather said softly.

Jake Green wasn't a man who particularly enjoyed talking about his feelings. His philosophy was when you felt something, you had two choices: either act on it or bury it. But neither felt appropriate now. If Jake were to act on his feelings where his father was concerned, he would've already been to New Bern and taken out Constantino. At the same time, he couldn't bury his grief either, though he had certainly tried with Emily.

So for the first time in longer than he could remember, Jake actually found himself wanting to share his feelings. He had the sense that if anyone could understand the myriad of emotions he had, it would be Heather.

"It's strange, but I think a lot about him and imagine the way it used to be. When I get home, I halfway expect him to be sitting in his chair trying to hide some type of snack food before he realizes it's me, not Mom, and I'm not the diet police." His dark eyes held onto something in the distance, something intangible but seemingly present. "She was afraid he'd die of a heart attack."

"They were together a long time."

"Nearly forty years. She always wanted to take care of him, and he acted like he never wanted to be fussed over, but we all knew he loved the attention from her. Always did."

"That's a long time," Heather said softly seeking out Jake's gaze.

A wry smile curled on his lips. "They had a secret to their success."

Heather glanced at the mantle, seeing an old photo of Johnston and Gail from what looked to be a Christmas celebration from the mid-1970s. On Gail's face was a look of surprise, on Johnston's, a look of mischief. Heather wondered what had happened while the picture was being made to elicit the expressions. "Love?"

"That—and my mom was always right. I still remember my dad pulling aside Eric the night of Eric's bachelor party."

Heather's eyes widened. "Eric? Eric had a bachelor party?"

Jake chuckled. "Very much in keeping with his personality, I assure you. We went to New Bern, played 18 holes of golf, came back here, and drank ourselves into oblivion at—ironically—Bailey's. I think Eric was pretty wasted after about two and a half shots."

Heather nodded slightly. That did sound like Eric, so she doubted Jake was censoring the events of the party for her benefit. "So what did your dad say to him?" Heather asked.

"He said, 'Son, there's something you need to know about marriage. It'll be one of the toughest things you ever do, but the best piece of advice I ever received came from my father. The two most powerful words in the English language, the two words that can move mountains, are 'yes' and 'dear.'" Jake's eye gravitated toward the poplar beams on the ceiling. "Sometimes I think I hear his voice in my head, offering advice and unsolicited opinions." He looked back down at Heather. "Does that make me crazy?"

"No. It makes you human." She wished she could take away the pain of losing his father. Nothing could ease that for him, nothing but time. Reaching out, she placed a hand over his heart. "Hey," she began soothingly, "he's still here, Jake. Not in the way we would want, but he's here. The lessons he taught you and Eric, the good men you are, the leadership he gave to this town. That is still here."

Jake placed his hand over Heathers and their fingers intertwined. He found himself marveling. How did she do it? How did she always seem to know exactly what he needed?

Jake took a deep breath as they pulled apart. "Have the parts?"

Heather looked down at the elements. "Yeah. A cure for cold showers. Guess we should get going."

Watching Heather walk out the front door, Jake wasn't convinced that fixing the hot water heater would be the end of his cold showers, but who was he to argue? He fished the house key from his jeans pocket and followed Heather, closing and locking the door behind them. As they stepped off the covered porch, they were met with large drops of rain, the first heralds of what looked to be a substantial storm coming.

"Looks like you were right," Heather commented.

And then the skies opened up. A torrent of water came forth, eliciting a little squeal from Heather, which in turn made Jake chuckle as the two picked up their pace and ran to Charlotte. Both got in, Heather in the driver's seat, Jake in the passenger's seat.

Heather reached into her pocket, pulled out the truck key, and placed it in the ignition. The truck's engine began to turn over, but then seemed to sputter out. Heather winced and leaned her head back against the seat. "You're not going to be happy with me."

"Pop the hood, and we'll take a look at it," Jake replied as he reached for the door handle.

Heather shook her head. "I already know what's wrong with it. Distributor cap is cracked. Water's getting in; it's not going to start."

Jake heaved a sigh, uncertain whether it was from relief that they'd be staying put longer or frustration that the truck wouldn't start.

Heather shifted in her seat and looked at her would-be passenger. "Sorry. I'd been meaning to replace it. I even had the part, but I went to New Bern. The cap was in my apartment, and I now have no apartment." She turned back around to look out the windshield. "Guess I don't have a cap, either," she added sardonically.

"It's fine, Heather. When the rain stops, we'll get a rag to wipe out the moisture."

"So great weather oracle, how long do you think that will be?"

Jake wiped the hair plastered to his forehead away from his face. "Long enough that I think we should go back inside and get dried off."

Heather nodded. Truth be told, she was starting to feel quite cold sitting in the truck, soaked to the bone. "Good idea."

With urgency that would've made the Wicked Witch of the West proud, the two exited the truck and made their way back to the house. As Jake unlocked the door, Heather cinched the waist line of her shirt and squeezed it, a futile attempt at wringing out the excess water. Already, puddles were forming in the low-lying areas in the field. Heather imagined the Tacoma River, which had looked so serene and clear earlier, was now a rushing, muddy mess.

The house, though a respite from the rain, was getting increasingly darker inside. Nevertheless, Heather couldn't miss how Jake's simple gray t-shirt clung to his body. Seeing him there, hair dripping, soaking wet, reminded her of the time she saw him after he'd just emerged from a shower at the medical center. She appreciated his body, hard, lean muscled. Suddenly, it didn't seem quite so cold anymore.

"I think I might've left a few things here," he stated. "I'll try to find something for you to put on." Jake watched as Heather still tugged at the shirt she wore, obviously feeling uncomfortable. She may as well have been in a wet t-shirt contest for the amount of coverage her shirt was giving her in its current incarnation. Jake certainly didn't mind the view, but it would make it easier to…well, it would just make everything easier if he could get her off his mind.

"Thanks," she replied.

Jake began down the hall to his old bedroom and motioned for Heather to follow. Once inside, Heather could see that the room was fairly small. It housed a twin sized bed, a small desk, and a chest of drawers. Model airplanes were suspended from the ceiling.

He shook his head apologetically. "Not much has changed in here. That's what I'm counting on."

Pulling open a drawer, he saw a strip of pictures on top of some folded clothes, pictures taken in a photo booth. Before Heather could make out the subjects in the pictures, he hastily pushed them aside and retrieved a sweat shirt imprinted with Embry Riddle across the front and a pair of sweat plants. "They'll be big on you," he brought the clothes to his nose, "and smell a little musty, but at least they'll be dry."

"Thanks, Jake," Heather said as he handed them to her. He pulled a t-shirt and old jeans out for himself.

"You can change in here. I'll see to getting a fire started. Make it warmer in here, and maybe we can start getting our clothes dry."

When Jake left the room and closed the door after him, Heather peeled the wet garments from her body—her long-sleeved t-shirt, her soaked jeans, even her undergarments. She put on the sweatpants, pulling the drawstrings tighter. Still, the pants were loose. But as the old saying went, she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. She brought the sweatshirt over her head and down her body, pushing up the sleeves once she had it on. Even if the clothes smelled as though they'd been in the drawer for years—which they had—Heather couldn't help but revel in the thought of wearing Jake's clothes. It was somehow very intimate.

This room was a glimpse into Jake's past. Some of the things within were juvenile in nature, like the models, but as Heather glanced at the bookshelf, she noticed some rather complex textbooks and flight manuals. And then there was the strip of pictures that he had pushed aside and left in the drawer. An intense curiosity came upon her. Gently, she pulled open the drawer.

Her eyes widened. Jake and Emily. How young they looked. How happy. The top picture of the trio of pictures featured the two smiling prettily at the camera. His arm was draped around her shoulders, and they looked so content. The second picture was the requisite goofy-faces picture that most people felt compelled to do in the photo booths. Emily's cheeks were sunken in and her lips protruding as though she was a fish. Jake, on the other hand, had rolled his eyes back in his head so that only his eye whites shone. The last picture featured the two engaged in a kiss.

Guilt, mingled with sadness, washed upon her just as thoroughly as the rain water had. The two people in the pictures looked so incredibly carefree. Their whole lives were ahead of them, full of possibility, full of promise. But what followed was a mountain of heartache, an on-off relationship that left neither of them feeling whole. Wishing she hadn't invaded Jake's privacy, she closed the drawer.

Heather collected her wet clothes and left the room, determined that the next time she was privy to snippets of information about Jake, it would be because he offered them, not because she was snooping. As she went out into the living room, Jake was coming into the house carrying pieces of what looked like broken furniture.

"Firewood supply is nonexistent," he explained, "but luckily Gramps wasn't one to throw things out." Jake dropped the wood pieces on the floor and sat on the hearth. He reached up into the fireplace and opened the chimney flue. When he brought his hand back down, it was black with soot. He wiped it on his wet blue jean leg.

"Know where any matches are?" Heather asked.

"Try the kitchen. Drawer to the left of the sink."

When Heather came back with the matches, Jake was already positioning the wood in the fireplace, along with what looked like torn pages from a Sears catalog. "Perfect timing," he said when she passed him the book of matches. Within a few seconds, the catalog pages were burning, and he was watching to see if the wood would catch fire.

"I think there are some hangers in the closet of my old room," Jake offered as he allowed himself a glimpse of Heather who stood in his too-large sweat shirt and sweat pants holding her wet clothes.

She nervously bit her lip. "I can just wait until we get home to let these dry," she replied. "But I'll be happy to get some hangers for you for when you change," she added.

Jake tore more pages from the catalog and tucked them under the wood in the fireplace. "You afraid I'll see your underwear?" The corners of his mouth began to turn up.

Heather's face grew warm. "I'm not… afraid," she began to rationalize. "I just…wow! Check out those pants," Heather said pointing at the catalog he held in his hand. "He is really styling in that plaid."

Jake glanced down. "He looks ridiculous. And _you_ are changing the subject. C'mon, I'm going to see your underwear sometime." Her mouth fell agape. "Because we live in the same house," he added. "I do help with laundry from time to time."

"Gail made you and Eric learn?"

Jake nodded, "The hard way. Pink was my color for awhile."

"I _am_ being silly, aren't I? It's just underwear, and it would be good for it to dry…" Her lashes lowered slightly and a mischievous smile curled upon her lips. "When you hang your clothes to dry, I guess we'll be answering an age old question tonight."

"And what's that?" Jake asked.

"Boxers or briefs?"

Jake's right eyebrow shot up. Heather certainly was full of surprises. Just when he thought he was on the verge of having her figured out, she said or did something that completely floored him. _She gives as good as she gets_, he realized.

He recovered quickly. "That's for me to know, and for you to find out." A quick smile filled his features, letting Heather know he was teasing her back.

She found herself chuckling in response. "As tempting as it sounds…"

Jake laughed. "Okay, okay. I'm quitting while I'm ahead!"

Her hands went to her hips, in the process flinging her wet clothes again herself. She quickly pulled them away. "Who says you're ahead? It looks like we were playing a game of chicken, and _I_ didn't blink."

"You're mixing up your games."

Heather's bottom lip extended into what Jake thought was seriously close to a pout. "You got me there," she admitted. Casting her gaze on the fire, she added, "Looks like you have your fire."

Jake nodded. "I'm gonna change. I'll bring back some hangers, and then we can scavenge the pantry."

"What I wouldn't give for some nice, fluffy marshmallows," she said softly, mostly to herself as Jake left the room. Fleetingly, she thought back to her little apartment and how she loved to roast marshmallows in the fireplace using an old coat hanger she had managed to semi-straighten. She'd tried to keep busy all day, hoping to avoid her thoughts, but they were boomeranging back on her.

Everything that tangibly showed who she was burned in that apartment. The structure wasn't particularly important to her other than the fact that it provided shelter, but it sheltered her entire past. She couldn't go back to the parish house in New Bern to feel close to her parents; going back would be like painting a bull's-eye on her chest and calling out with aid of a megaphone, "Here I am, come get me." The photographs, the other mementoes, every little object that tied her to Matthew and Rose Lisinski, every relic that proved that they had existed and that they mattered to her, were gone, save for one small picture of her father.

She needed to be doing something—anything—to get her mind off her circumstances. But what was she to do with her time? How did she pick up and carry on when literally her whole world had come down around her?

'_One step at a time,'_ she answered herself. '_Take everything as it comes, just like you told Jake. Concentrate on what you can do rather than what you can't.'_

She'd told Jake that his father was still with him through him and his brother, through the good that he'd done for Jericho. Did she carry on her parents' legacy as Jake and Eric carried on Johnston Green's? Heather only hoped that if her parents were still alive, they wouldn't have been disappointed in her, in the choices she made in New Bern and in the choices she made now.

She pulled the ponytail holder from her hair and ran her fingers through her strands, a futile attempt to brush it sans an actual brush. Water dripped from it, droplets running down her back, drawing a shiver from her.

Craving heat, she drew closer to the fire. The blaze appeared to be dancing, the flames flickering and causing a warm glow to fill the increasingly dark room. Heather could hear the sound of the rain on the roof and, she thought, the rumble of thunder in the distance. This place wasn't home, but it felt good being there. She looked back to the recliner and could remember Jake's grandfather sitting there, his packet of chewing tobacco on the end table, along with a tin can for the tobacco juice he spat out. Back then, E.J. had told her, _"I know it's bad for me, but at my age, what do I care? A man's got to go sometime, may as well go doing what he loves."_

Jake was inextricably tied to this place, almost as much so as E.J. Green. Maybe someday when things settled down, when they were back on their feet again, he would make the ranch house his home.

If he didn't get himself killed first.

Heather couldn't even begin to imagine living as Jake did. He put himself on the line for Jericho more times than she could count. She couldn't decide if he was foolhardy or heroic. Perhaps it was a combination of both. Heather sighed, remembering once again what she'd told him before she left for New Bern. Who was she kidding? Jake Green was an adrenaline junky. He needed, he craved, danger. She was not hazardous to him.

Jake, wearing holey jeans and a dry t-shirt, came back into the room carrying hangers and socks. "Thought you might want these, too," he explained giving her a pair of socks to wear.

"That's very sweet of you," Heather replied, slipping on the socks. They, too, were big, but they provided warmth for her feet. She arranged her clothing on the hangers he brought, while he did the same with his. When she was done and had hung the hangers on the mantle, she felt more comfortable. She'd managed to mostly obscure the view of her undergarments. From the corner of her eye, she could see what Jake was hanging, and she had her answer to the age old question she'd teased him about earlier.

* * *

To be continued in Chapter 11, Part C...


	15. Chapter 11, Part C

**Author's Notes**: A special thanks goes out to skyrose, my ever-talented Beta reader.

"Annie's Song" was written by the incomparable John Denver.

**Warnings:** There's nothing too graphic in this chapter, but there is profanity and plenty of fluff.

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter 11, Part C**

Emily Sullivan clasped her hands together in satisfaction as she looked at the roasted chicken she'd just pulled from the oven. "Looks good enough to eat," she said to no one in particular as she pressed the off button on her stainless steel oven. She supposed that most people would assume that she'd be helpless in the kitchen. Truth be told, it wasn't her preferred room, but then again, she was used to being underestimated.

But that was one thing about Jake that she appreciated. He never underestimated her. For instance, he always knew that she was smart, whereas others couldn't get past the blonde hair and doe eyes. He knew she had a dangerous streak and never judged her when people around her warned her to watch herself and that she didn't want to capitalize on her reputation as Jonah Prowse's daughter. He knew the good and the bad. They fought, and they made up, but they were never indifferent with one another.

Her eyes fell upon the clock on the stove. 7:02. If Jake didn't get there soon, they'd have a fresh subject to fight about. Dinner was ready, and she'd taken pains to make sure everything was just perfect. For instance, she thought about setting the dining room table, but settled instead for the small table in the breakfast nook. It would be more intimate there, and she figured Jake would be more comfortable. Despite the less than formal setting, she expended the extra effort to spruce up the appearance of the table itself, from the selection of the burgundy colored tablecloth and contrasting cloth napkins to the candles in the center of the table. In the months following the EMP, she'd grown used to the candlelight, though it certainly was no longer a necessity. The houses in the Pines had been among the first to have electricity restored once the power grid came back on-line.

Emily found herself pacing. The heels she wore clicked on the hardwood floor as she made her way down the hall and to the front door. Did she hear a car door close? Was it him? Her heart quickened slightly at the thought. The last month had been difficult for him, difficult for them. Watching Jake hurt over the death of his father, having him alternately reach out to her and then keep her at arm's length, had been excruciating. She wanted the comfort of Jake, the familiar touch, the way his eyes would follow her when she walked in a room, the laughter, the whispers in her ear—the way it was before.

Lately, being near him had been anything but comfortable. There was no laughter from him, few touches. How she ached for those touches! They'd been together on the night of the battle, wordless, desperate for one another. And they'd been together two other times since, but with the exception of that first night, he'd seemed so distant from her. Three times in four weeks. They weren't exactly setting any records or having sex marathons the way they used to. But Emily knew it could be like that with them again, once things got back to normal. They had to be that way again, the way they were before.

_Before._

Emily supposed that most people nowadays measured their lives according the bombs: what happened before the bombs versus what happened after. Not her. She dared not admit this to anyone; for that matter, she barely wanted to admit it to herself, but she measured so much by Jake. Before Jake left versus after Jake left. Hadn't much of her existence been tied up in him?

"_Oh, that Prowse girl is running around with Jake Green. Can you believe it? She's a pretty thing, but her father's in prison, you know."_

"_How long are you going to stay mad at Jake, Sis?"_

"_I don't think we should get married yet, Jake, but someday…"_

"_You should have had his back! It's your fault. This is on you! Get out. Get out!"_

Emily drew back the curtains slightly and saw someone across the street running from his car into the house, trying to avoid the rain.

'_The rain_. _That's probably why Jake is late. He's slowed down to drive more safely. He will be here soon. And with any luck, he'll be staying put. _The thought of falling asleep in his arms while the rain fell on the roof made Emily feel warm.

She needed it to be like it was before.

* * *

"Let's see. We have Vienna sausages, maraschino cherries, and bread and butter pickles." Jake held up the jar of pickles to the candles that illuminated the kitchen of the ranch house. "At least, I think these are pickles. They're looking greener than usual."

Heather wrinkled her nose when she saw the jar. "Well," she said with a sigh, "it wouldn't be the strangest thing I've eaten."

"Oh?" Jake was intrigued. "Here I thought you'd be tried and true. Fried chicken, apple pie…"

"Stop! You're making me hungry!" Heather protested. "But for your information, I'm not _completely _without adventure in my cuisine choices. I had cow tongue once."

Jake shook his head. "Don't think I want to taste anything that can taste me back."

Heather laughed. "It was actually pretty good once I got past the texture. Let's just say that I was motivated to try it."

"Oh, and what was your motivation?"

"That's another story for another time," Heather hedged. "So, what's the strangest thing you've ever eaten?"

"Other than my mom's sour kraut?"

"I'm going to tell her you said that," Heather teased with a grin.

"My word against yours," Jake replied. Heather tilted her head knowingly and Jake swore softly, knowing whose word Gail Green would believe. "Well, I did have king snake once. That was unusual."

"Snake?" The pitch of her voice became decidedly higher at the mere mention of snakes. Mrs. Beverleigh, who taught across the hall from her, used to have an albino snake as a classroom pet. It was harmless, and the children used to remove it from its cage to carry around during free time. Even so, Heather never particularly liked it and had warned Mrs. Beverleigh that if the snake ever got loose and came to her classroom, it would likely find itself on the wrong side of a very heavy book. Heather had teased Mrs. Beverleigh by asking her whatever happened to having furry animals as class pets. That was when her co-worker showed off her pet tarantula.

Jake smirked at Heather's revulsion. "Yeah. At a little restaurant in Afghanistan. It was an interesting restaurant."

"Interesting?" Heather scoffed. "That sounds like an understatement."

Jake crossed his arms, enjoying watching her reaction. "The cook brought the snake out for my approval beforehand—still slithering."

Heather shuddered. "That snake would have to bite me at least three or four times before I'd be mad enough to eat it."

"Well, it was either eat the snake or eat sheep testicles."

Heather's eyes widened. "I am _so_ grateful for the can of Vienna sausages and the jar of cherries."

"Thought you would be." Jake felt back into the cupboard again. "We've hit the jackpot." He pulled out a package of marshmallows. They were perhaps a bit stale, but if roasted, he was fairly certain that they would come back to life.

"Marshmallows!" Heather practically squealed with glee as Jake tossed her the plastic package. She held it in her hand like a revered relic. "This is…" she felt a little catch in her throat. "I was just wishing for marshmallows not even five minutes ago."

"Then maybe while you're on a roll, you could wish for a slice of pizza and some nachos for me."

"So long as it's not from the Pizza Garden," Heather replied. Certainly, that was an impossibility. When the Pizza Garden closed, the Cyberjolt Café opened in its place. Now the building was in the process of renovations for a permanent Jennings & Rall office. Heather hugged the package of marshmallows to her chest. Even out here, try as they might, there was no escaping what was happening out _there_. The frightening part to Heather was that as much as she found herself growing suspicious of the Cheyenne government, it was the thought of certain individuals out there that put her on edge.

"We'll have to straighten a hanger and roast some of those," Jake said pointing to the package Heather held, shaking her from her thoughts.

"So sausages, cherries, and marshmallows it is," Heather replied.

"I think I see a two-liter of Pepsi in here. It's probably flat, but it's wet." Jake twisted open the jar of cherries and sniffed its contents. "Still smells good."

"I'm glad it's sweet cherries rather than pie cherries." But as she thought on it, she wouldn't have expected any less from E.J. Green. The man had a fervent love of sweet cherries, an affinity that Heather could liken to her own partiality for marshmallows.

Jake pulled a cherry from the jar by its stem and tried it. "Just like I remember."

Heather took one from the container and watched the strange expression come over his face, as though his tongue was pushing against his inner cheeks. After about ten seconds, he opened his mouth and pulled out the stem. Heather could see where he'd tied it into a knot with his tongue. "A man of many talents."

"All well hidden, I assure you," Jake replied with a glint in his eyes.

Heather leaned against the counter. "What other hidden talents do you have?"

"I'm a wicked ping pong player," he provided as he took another cherry from the jar. "You sharing?"

"Cherries?" Heather asked, confused as Jake was the one holding the jar.

"No. Talents," Jake responded. "I'm sure you have some hidden ones yourself."

"Well," Heather paused trying to think of something that qualified as hidden. "I can usually solve a Rubik's Cube in fewer than twenty-two moves, no matter how mixed up it is." She frowned wishing she had some exotic skill like swallowing swords or eating fire. Even twirling batons would've sounded more intriguing at this point.

His eyebrows shot up. "Impressive."

"Doesn't exactly live up to tying a cherry stem with your tongue," Heather replied shaking her head. "I'll bet the girls loved that." As soon as the words came from her mouth, Heather groaned. "That came out sounding far different than I intended. I just meant, I thought they would be impressed by you." _No, that's no better._ "By the skill, I mean." She averted her gaze, much as Jake remembered that morning at the hospital when she saw him after he'd just gotten out of the shower.

Jake watched her, bemused.

"Umm," Heather continued rambling. "I also cut hair. Though it's been a really long time since I have. That wasn't something that came quite so naturally to me, not like the Rubik's Cube, but at least I'll have something to fall back on if the post-apocalyptic job market isn't looking so good."

Jake ran his hand through his own shaggy hair. "We may have to put that talent to the test sometime soon."

"I'm a little out of practice," Heather admitted. "Sure you'd trust me near your hair with a pair of scissors?"

There was no hesitation as Jake spoke. "I'd trust you with my life."

* * *

7:25. Where was he? Emily picked up the phone to call Jake's house, grateful that at least the phones worked, for the most part, locally. It was an old-fashioned rotary phone, and she began to dial his number, but placed the ear piece back on the receiver.

_No. I'll give him a few more minutes._

But the chicken was already getting cold, and her temper was getting hot.

* * *

"So what's your poison tonight? Pot roast and potatoes or chicken pot pie?"

Lieutenant Jacob Hamilton looked up from his report he was drafting as two MREs fell onto the portable table in front of him. Hamilton would've recognized the bland Midwestern voice that accompanied the less than appetizing MREs anywhere: Lieutenant Barrett Buchs.

"They finally let you off of babysitting duty?" Hamilton joked to his friend, a common pastime between the two who'd known each other since their days of basic training at Fort Sill, advanced training at Fort Bragg, and through two tours of duty in Iraq.

"You've done your share," Buchs defended. "You know, to hear people around these parts talk, this Constantino guy is hardcore. At least I got that angle going for me. Your babysitting job was for what—some little girl that couldn't find her way back to Kansas?" Barry wrinkled his nose. Of all the places he thought he'd be, Kansas was not one of them. Not that there was anything wrong with it, per se, but everything looked the same. Fields, the occasional small town, more fields, a road to nowhere. Growing up in Green Bay, Wisconsin, he'd spent more than his fair share of time at the lake. But what was there to do around here? Grow corn? Pick corn? Eat corn? Oh, that's right. They could also grow wheat, pick wheat, and eat wheat.

"I guaran-damn-tee that my babysitting job's been far more fulfillin' than yours. And she's not a little girl. Heather's a grown woman."

"Good body?" Buchs asked.

"Mmmhmmm," Hamilton replied. "And a good mind. She's sharp, probably one of the smartest people I've ever met. And just decent."

"Pretty much everything I'm not looking for, except for the part about the good body," Buchs commented with a chuckle. "Your mama would be glad to know I've not corrupted her baby boy too much."

Hamilton groaned. How many times had Buchs ribbed him about his mother? "You don't know what you're missin' with all the chasin' around you do."

"Right now I'm missing dinner," Buchs commented, but rather than reaching for one of the MREs, he reached for a pack of cigarettes in his front pocket.

Hamilton lifted a sandy colored eyebrow. "Where'd you score those?" Tobacco products were not completely unattainable, but they weren't commonplace anymore, either.

"Told you my babysitting job wasn't as boring as yours."

Buchs didn't elaborate, but he didn't have to, either. Hamilton knew him well enough. "You can't smoke those in here," Hamilton protested.

"Wasn't even going to try," Buchs retorted as he pulled a cigarette out of the packet. "Know how you are. Goddamn rain'll probably drown me, but what the hell." With that, he ambled out of the large tent.

Hamilton pushed aside the MREs and continued writing his log of the day's events. It had been particularly long, but he couldn't say that it had been boring. He was starting to get a feel for Jericho and looked forward to getting back to see Heather, particularly because he'd be bringing back a few surprises for her from Ted.

Hamilton wondered if they were doing any good. He suspected their current method of handling the tenuous relations between New Bern and Jericho was akin to putting a bandage on a gaping wound and expecting the bleeding to stop; it wasn't going to happen. Despite a curfew in place in New Bern, which was intended to curtain vigilantism, Hamilton wouldn't be surprised if the next morning he received word of another attack in Jericho from one of New Bern's citizens—or vice versa—if one of Jericho's finest made his way to New Bern for some quality vengeance time.

_"You've got to let me talk to him! He needs to know!" _

Hamilton's head jerked up and he was immediately on his feet bridging the expanse between the small table and the entry to the tent. Pulling open the flap, he saw Ted Lewis flanked on either side by two soldiers.

"You break curfew, you go to holding," one of them said.

"If I was just going to cause trouble, why would I come here?" Ted argued plaintively. He looked from one soldier to the next. "I need to see Lieutenant Hamilton! It's a matter of life and death!" Evidently, the three men had not seen him standing there.

"It always is," one of the soldiers commented.

"I'll take it from here." Hamilton spoke with conviction in his voice.

"Yes, Sir," the two men yielded to the officer's authority and stepped aside while Hamilton guided Ted into the tent.

"Ted, why'd you break curfew to come out here? Couldn't it have waited until the mornin'?" Hamilton asked, his voice lowering.

Ted shook his head and, if possible, looked even more peaked than earlier in the day when Hamilton had delivered Heather's message to him. "Couldn't wait. They know she's alive, and now they're going after her."

Hamilton didn't have to ask who. He knew.

* * *

Barrett Buchs had finally found his haven, or a reasonable facsimile of one. He'd edged toward the camp's perimeter hoping to escape the curious stares of those who'd wonder how exactly he'd managed to secure tobacco. How convenient that the Army had established camp in New Bern's Smith Park. Buchs was able to use one of the metal park shelters as protection against the rain. Lightning had died down for the time being, but even if it hadn't, Buchs was fairly convinced that he would've taken his chances. Pulling a lighter from his pocket, he flipped the lighter on, and enjoyed that first scent of the lit cigarette. Holding it as an object of worship, he lifted it to his lips and puffed.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the sweet aroma of the cigarette and feeling his body already begin to react to the nicotine. It had been too long.

And then the cigarette was flying from his mouth.

What the hell? Why had it done that? But as one sensation was substituted for another, Buchs had his answer in the form of a follow up left hook to his jaw. And then there was nothing.

Barrett Buchs never saw the end coming.

* * *

Rose Lisinski had always told her daughter not to lick her fingers. But as the sticky remnants of the roasted marshmallows clung to Heather's slender fingers, she couldn't resist. Getting stranded had been worth it, if for nothing else than to have marshmallows again.

Heather didn't figure that there was a huge demand for that particular food product these days. Marshmallows certainly held little nutritional value. She wondered how difficult it would be to make them and mentally noted that she wanted to look at the ingredient list on the package. Maybe she would be able to fashion a reasonable facsimile to the Jet-Puffed brand marshmallows that were in danger of giving her a sugar rush.

Sitting on the floor with her back against the couch, she looked from the fire toward Jake. He was a few feet away, kneeling in front of one of the built-in cabinets. She couldn't see his expression, for his back was turned to her, but nevertheless, she felt amazingly content with him there.

"John Denver. The Carpenters. Perry Cuomo. Neil Diamond. Gramps had quite a collection," Jake murmured as he fingered through the record collection.

Heather stifled a giggle. "Did you ever hear him sing 'Thank God I'm a Country Boy'?"

Eyebrows raised, Jake turned to face Heather. "He didn't," Jake groaned at the image in his mind of his grandfather serenading Heather.

"He did."

"On behalf of music lovers everywhere, I gotta apologize."

Heather waved her hand. "No need for apologies. Your grandfather may have been tone deaf, but he made up for it in spunk quotient."

Jake's hands lingered on the John Denver album that had been his grandfather's. These tidbits that Heather provided about Gramps had him hungry for more information. Gramps was one of the few people with whom he'd maintained contact after he tore out of Jericho. All the time, E.J. Green tried to coax him home, but Jake wouldn't budge. And now here was someone who could help to fill in the gaps of what his grandfather had experienced in those last years. Yet in the time Jake had known Heather, she'd not told him about her friendship with his grandfather. The thought only reinforced what Jake continued to realize: there was much more to Heather than met the eye.

"You never mentioned him to me before."

"Well," Heather began, "we've not exactly been in the same place at the same time for very long. And I have to admit, I wasn't sure how you felt about him. Being gone, I mean," she added. "I didn't want to open any old wounds."

Jake exhaled. Truth be told, he wasn't sure the wounds were old. He had no way to change those moments in his life that he regretted, but that didn't stop him from dwelling on them from time to time. "I was out of the country when he died. Didn't know about it until a week after the funeral."

Heather could hear the self-recrimination in his voice. She _had_ opened old wounds for him. But maybe there was a way to make him feel better, to remember the good, not the bad.

"Well, in honor of your grandfather…" Heather leaned forward and took the _Back Home Again_ album from Jake. "Is the hand cranked phonograph still around here?" Heather stood and looked around the room. "Mmm. There it is." She removed the record from its cover, placed it on the turntable, and cranked it.

Broken guitar chords filled the room and Heather gasped slightly.

"_You fill up my senses  
Like a night in the forest  
Like the mountains in springtime  
Like a walk in…"_

Heather pulled the stylus off the record. "Sorry. Wrong side." But the creases on her forehead, the way her eyes took on a glassy appearance did not escape Jake's notice.

"You okay?"

Heather shrugged and managed a smile. "I'm fine. Just not paying attention to which side the song was on."

"But that song has you upset." Jake's own troubles were forgotten as he concentrated on Heather.

"I'm not upset," Heather insisted, though a slight edge to her voice suggested otherwise. "Sorry, but I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

She exhaled loudly, wishing she could shake off his questions. "Maybe not. But Jake, I will be fine. It just brings back memories. That's all." She licked her lips absently. Wasn't she supposed to be making _him_ feel better?

"Was it your song with someone?"

Heather shook her head. "I never had a song with anyone. I mean, there have been songs that reminded me of people, but I've never had a song…" her voice trailed off as she realized she was rambling again. "It was my parents' song."

"'Annie's Song' was?" Jake asked.

Heather nodded. "Yeah. But Dad called it 'Rosie's Song'. There was always so much music in our house with the two of them. One of my earliest memories is of listening to my dad play the guitar and my parents singing that song together, their voices harmonizing. I thought then that I'd never heard a more beautiful sound. It was more than guitar chords or musical notes. It was about more than perfect pitch. I could feel their love almost as easily as I can feel this album cover in my hand."

"It sounds as though they were crazy about each other."

"They were. Don't get me wrong. I don't believe in fairytales and knights on white horses."

"Too practical for that?"

"Yeah. But I know that there are some things that can't be explained away by science, by pheromones, by social conditioning, by the biological instinct to procreate. With some people, it's as though their very souls connect." She paused. "I guess I'm not very practical after all."

But Jake understood what she meant. He'd seen the same connection between his parents. Some wrote it off as basic compatibility, being in the right place at the right time with the right attitudes. But Jake knew better. Even when his father had a difficult time expressing his love for Eric and him, Jake never doubted it was there. With their mother, it was less subtle. The looks they gave one another, as though they were speaking in a secret language, the way they would curl up with one another in his father's oversized recliner, the laughter between the two of them—all of it spoke volumes.

"The song makes you sad instead of happy, though."

"I…" she began but stopped. She wanted to choose her words carefully. "As long as I don't dwell on things, I'm fine. I can't hear it without thinking of them, and right now, I don't know that I can think of them. Not without…" A lump formed in her throat, and she willed it away. She would not cry. Others had endured far worse than she had. Not that the suffering of others made her feel better, but it did put her losses into perspective. "It's just that he sang that song to her on their first date. He sang that song to her at their wedding. He sang that song to her as she lay in the hospital dying. And then he never sang that song again." Her eyes pooled with unshed tears. Groaning, she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She sniffed as she added, "This is not what I want to be."

Jake took the album cover from her hands and set it aside. "It's okay to mourn what you've lost. You don't have to be strong all the time."

"Are you taking your own advice, Jake?"

"I'm working on it."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"Shhhhh," he soothed, reaching down and taking her left hand.

"What are you doing?" she asked as he brought her hand onto his shoulder.

With his free hand, he reached the phonograph and returned the needle to the record. The familiar chords of "Annie's Song" began once again. "We're going to make a new memory for you." His hands circled her waist, pulling her close as John Denver's melodic timbre filled the room that was otherwise quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire and the falling of the rain outside.

"_You fill up my senses  
Like a night in the forest  
Like the mountains in spring time  
Like a walk in the rain…"_

Heather was stunned as she looked up at Jake. The soft, earnest expression in his eyes had her swimming in a sea of confusion. This man—this man who she'd seen wield a weapon on more than one occasion, tackle a would-be assassin, wire explosives, and take his life into his hands more times than she could count— continually surprised her. Though she supposed she shouldn't have been. This was, after all, the same man who came to the aid of a bus full of children, despite his own injuries; the man willing to help a radiation-stricken stranger; the same man who knelt and solemnly retrieved a doll at Bass Lake the day they searched for survivors; and the man who made sure she had a place to go when her apartment was destroyed.

"_Like a storm in the desert  
Like a sleepy blue ocean  
You fill up my senses  
Come fill me again…"_

Heather slid her arms around his neck and rested her cheek against his chest. The two moved slowly with the music as the beauty of the words washed over her. This was different from the night before, she decided. She'd ached to be held by him and felt racked with guilt for it. Now she felt something else entirely.

She felt safe.

"Will you tell me how they met?" he asked gently.

"Dad was a chaplain, drafted into the U.S. Army during the Vietnam War. He didn't agree with the war and probably could have sought conscientious objector status, but he felt like it was his duty, God's will, or a combination of both to go. He felt that he could do some good there.

"He and some friends from his division were on furlough in California, waiting to go overseas. His friends slept in on Sunday morning, but my dad went to church. That was when he first saw my mom. He went back to the motel and told his buddies that he'd met the girl he would marry. They thought he was insane."

"_Come let me love you.  
Let me give my life to you.  
Let me drown in your laughter.  
Let me die in your arms.  
Let me lay down beside you."_

"When you know, you know," Jake commented, resting his chin on the top of her head. "How long did they date?"

Jake could feel Heather smile against him. "Three days."

Jake drew in a sharp breath. "That's fast."

She shifted slightly so she could look up at him. "Like you said, when you know, you know."

Jake nodded, his brown eyes focusing on her blue ones. "So I did." He moved one of his hands upward, traveling the small of her back before resting it at the nape of her neck.

"_Let me always be with you.  
Come let me love you.  
Come love me again…"_

Jake's gaze lowered to her lips. He remembered the one time they'd kissed and how he'd avoided her afterward. He knew she'd considered herself to be safe—too safe. But the fact that he'd found himself standing at the precipice of feeling strongly for her and all the complications that went along with it had made her dangerous to him at the time. He couldn't afford to lose focus on what was at stake: their very survival. He knew Heather thought it was risk that made him tick, but he wanted the same things that most any man wanted.

Heather swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. As Jake leaned down, she thought he might kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her. Instead, he whispered in her ear, "When you know, you know." His voice was low, husky.

With the way he spoke, his words felt more intimate than any kiss could. Her heart pounded as he pulled back slightly and captured her gaze again, a half-smile on his lips.

"_You fill up my senses  
Like a night in the forest  
Like the mountains in spring time  
Like a walk in the rain…"_

"Things can change so suddenly," she uttered as she felt his fingers toying with her damp hair.

"Yeah." They were no longer talking about her parents.

Jake wanted nothing more than to kiss her, to touch her. But until he resolved his relationship with Emily, he wouldn't put Heather in that position. Maybe it was time to take the conversation back to her parents. "So three days? That must've been a shock to your grandparents."

"That's putting it mildly. They wouldn't attend the wedding, but they eventually warmed up to my dad. Took a few years, though."

"I'm guessing it coincided with your arrival."

Heather's brows furrowed in surprise. "How did you know?"

"Let's just say my grandmother—my dad's mother—didn't immediately take to my mother."

"But when you came along…"

"Yeah. I guess she decided my mother wasn't entirely evil."

Heather did a double take. "I can't imagine anyone not loving your mother!"

Jake couldn't either, but then again, he was biased. "There's a story there. I'll tell you sometime, but I want you to finish yours first."

"One of my dad's Ranger buddies served as witness. Mom didn't have the chance to get a fancy wedding dress, but she looked beautiful from what I remember of the pictures. She wore a pale blue dress and carried Queen Anne's Lace. My dad played his guitar and sang this very song. Mom told me that he was singing so enthusiastically, he broke one of the strings on his guitar and didn't even notice."

"_Like a storm in the desert  
Like a sleepy blue ocean  
You fill up my senses  
Come fill me again…"_

Jake absently ran his teeth along his bottom lip, a look of intense concentration crossing his features.

"What is it?" she asked.

"You're going to think this is crazy, but that story…it sounds familiar somehow."

"Really?" she asked tilting her head. "That surprises me. I always thought their circumstances were unique."

Jake shook his head as the last notes of "Annie's Song" finished. "I'm sure they were."

Heather pulled away from Jake, reluctantly, and picked up the stylus from the record on the phonograph. When she did, she could still hear the rain falling on the roof in a steady downpour. "Thank you, Jake."

"For what?"

"Giving me a new memory to associate with the song."

He took her hand and squeezed it lightly before letting go. "Glad I could do that for you."

She walked to the window, trying to look out into the darkness, but with the light of the fire reflecting off the glass saw nothing other than water beading on the windows before streaking down the glass. She felt Jake's approach behind her, intensely aware of his presence. Was it his faint scent of sandalwood that drew her senses? The warmth he emitted? His even breathing? His strength and tenderness? Or was it just the fact that from the very moment she'd met him, she'd found herself connected to him, whether it was in those rare, quiet moments or occasions when they worked together to solve a problem?

Now he was close to her but not close enough. Heather had to stifle a sigh. Wasn't this more than she'd ever had with him? Was she so greedy that she needed his arms around her again, the sensation of his hands warming her cool skin? But she felt so many feelings rising within her, unfamiliar. Did she even have the word for them? Yearning? Somehow the word didn't seem potent enough. Her heart quickened and her face suddenly felt flushed.

Jake's eyes ran the length of Heather's body. His sweatshirt swallowed her whole, but there was something very satisfying in seeing it wrapped around her body. Similarly, the sweatpants she wore looked to barely hang on the gentle swell of her hips. When they'd danced together, he'd had to fight the urge to tuck his thumbs in the waistband and….Jake pushed the thought aside. His imagination was carrying him away, no doubt about it.

Heather was different. There was a dichotomy to her that had him intrigued. She was angelic and earthy, smooth and rough. Her bashfulness over the drying of her clothing earlier, juxtaposed with the ease in which she'd held her own against him, had his mind and body racing. Her innocence, he was beginning to realize, was about more than a cheerful disposition or self-effacing demeanor. It was genuine, and Jake suspected that her innocence extended to the bedroom, as well. In the past, women like her would've scared the hell out of him. They were too complicated, would've expected too much from him, and generally were not worth the trouble. But who was he kidding? Comparing Heather to other women was akin to comparing stealth bombers to crop dusters.

As it was, Jake felt like he was flooring an accelerator with the car in neutral. So many impulses warred within him simultaneously. He wanted to protect Heather, to keep her safe from the outside world, safe from what he feared was coming. He wanted to pull her close, feel her skin against his, discover how far downward her blush extended. He wanted to reveal his past. He wanted to bury his past. He wanted to laugh with her until his sides hurt. He wanted to know every detail about her.

And so standing behind her, seeing her pull up the too-large pants before they dipped lower, seeing the glint of firelight on her mussed hair, Jake was content to be there with her.

Still looking out the window, Heather asked, "Do you think your mom is worried about us?" She pushed up a too-long sleeve that had fallen.

Jake grimaced. He hated the thought of his mother being worried; she'd had far too many occasions to feel that emotion than she deserved. But as Jake considered Heather's question, he was fairly certain he could ascertain his mother's response. "She's probably wondering why we aren't back yet, but she knew we were coming here. She'll figure the weather is keeping us out here."

"I wonder what time it is," Heather murmured, her hand pressed against the window pane.

Jake shoved his hands in his jean pockets. "It's gotta be past 8:00 by now."

Jake remembered he was supposed to be at Emily's house at 7:00 p. m. _Sharp_, she'd told him. At this point, she was undoubtedly beyond pissed off, but that made two of them. Try as he might, he couldn't regret spending this evening with Heather.

As if on cue, lightning flashed in the night sky followed a few seconds later by a clap of thunder. "Doesn't sound like the weather is going to let up anytime soon, does it?"

"Ready to get rid of me?" Jake teased.

"Hardly," Heather replied. Didn't he know that she wanted to hold on to him and never let go?

Jake cleared his throat. "We should probably bunker down for the night."

She nodded as she turned to face him. "That's right. You had an early morning." What _was_ going on with him? Between a to-do list, which seemed completely out of character for Jake, and his unexplained early morning excursion, Heather was curious. She'd tried to keep her curiosity in check, but she couldn't help but wonder. Nevertheless, she didn't press. "You must just be running on fumes."

"And maraschino cherries," he added.

"And maraschino cherries," she echoed with a smile. "So," she began sheepishly, her eyes dropping to the floor, "sleeping arrangements."

Jake sucked in a breath as a myriad of possibilities rushed through his brain, but in the end, his better judgment won over, a fact that would've had the old Jake Green in a state of utter disbelief. "Temperature's still dipping pretty low at night. We can stay in here near the fire."

Heather nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

"So what's your pick? Sofa or recliner?"

Heather shrugged. With the exception of the night before, she'd had precious little luxury at bedtime over the last few months. "I don't have a preference. I'll take the one you don't want."

"I'll take the recliner then. You can have the sofa." His eyes captured hers and held her gaze. "I'm going to find some blankets and pillows."

Heather watched as Jake disappeared down the hall. Leaving the window, she crossed the short distance to the sofa before sinking onto the couch, tucking her legs underneath herself. Listening for Jake's footsteps, she leaned her head against the cushioned sofa, realizing that going back tomorrow would be difficult. Not the trip itself. Heather was fairly certain that as soon as the rain stopped and she could get the truck parts dried, they'd be on their way. Even if they couldn't get Charlotte running in the morning, the walk back wouldn't be so bad once the storms passed. No, Heather was more concerned about leaving the relative solitude of the ranch. Being there with Jake had only served to strengthen her feelings for him, feelings she had tried to keep buried.

She thought back to her Rules to Live By. They were so incredibly black and white and, by extension, her life had been one filled with absolutes. With Jake, it wasn't like that. It wasn't black, white, or even shades of gray. Instead, she imagined being near him as living in a black and white world and seeing vibrant colors for the first time. Being near him was dizzying and exhilarating and made her want things she'd never known she wanted for herself. He'd probably scoff at the notion, as abstract as it was, but it, nevertheless, struck her as true.

But what was she going to do about it? To say that their situation was complicated was an understatement. Emily and Jake had complex histories, inextricably bound together. Emily was the first friend Heather made when she moved to Jericho. Before Heather left for New Bern, the two had been able to confide in one another, depend on one another. Now Heather could feel their friendship slipping away, straining under the weight of the realization that what each of them wanted was at cross purposes.

Heather of old would have bowed out gracefully, taking herself out of the equation. Come to think of it, three days ago, she would've willingly bowed out, but now, _now_ she was unwilling to do that. Whether it was in spite of her better judgment or because of her better judgment remained to be seen. All Heather knew was that the more she was around Jake, the more she wanted to be around him. She'd fought the battle to remain indifferent where he was concerned and lost. Granted, that was one battle she wasn't sorry to have surrendered.

Was she setting herself up for a fall? Was she reading too much into this day spent with Jake? Was she projecting what she _hoped for_ rather than what actually _was_? But as she saw Jake come back down the hall carrying blankets and pillows, a smile upon his face, Heather had her answers.

Nothing in life was guaranteed, least of all the future, but for the first time in a long time, Heather felt hope.

* * *

"Emily, I didn't expect to see you here." Gail Green surveyed the woman who stood before her on the front porch, her arms tightly hugging herself. Gail recognized this posture. She'd seen it too many times over the last two decades. Come to think of it, the first time Emily Sullivan—then Prowse—had shown up on her doorstep, her posture had been much the same, though now certainly the woman who stood before Gail was a far more graceful creature than the girl who was all gangly arms and legs and whose blond hair was pulled up in braids.

"Is Jake home?"

Past and present blended the images in Gail's mind. Those had Emily's words then, too. Though back then, Emily had wanted Jake to come out to play baseball. Now…now it was very different between them.

Gail shook her head. "No, I thought he was with you." Emily looked a little lost. "You're soaking wet. Come on in. Let's get you dried off."

Emily stepped into the foyer of the Green home. How many times had she been in that house? Hundreds? Thousands? At one point, it had felt like home to her, but now as she stood there, she felt detached. Her eyes took in the sights, all so familiar to her, from the polished cherry furniture to the oversized sofa and recliner in the living room. She noted the photo albums spread out on the coffee table, along with a few piled on the sofa. She'd interrupted a trip down memory lane, Emily realized. If only that lane weren't a one way street…

Gail's curious gaze was upon her.

"He didn't show up to dinner, and I thought…I thought something might be wrong," Emily began. Now she wondered if she was overreacting. Jake would probably be upset with her if she concerned Gail, but they had agreed upon 7:00 p.m. sharp. Lately, though, they couldn't seem to be in the same place at the same time for very long. There was always something pulling him away, whether it was working on the ranch, border patrol, dealing with the Army, or now making sure that Heather was settled.

Emily felt a twinge of guilt. She wanted Heather to be happy. She honestly did. Just—Emily sighed internally—why did she need Jake to pick up the pieces for her? And damn it, why was Jake so willing to drop everything to run to Heather's side but couldn't be bothered to show up to dinner on time?

Gail studied Emily's expression and could see the worry in her eyes; it was the same look she'd seen last night at Bailey's when Emily approached the dinner table with Jake and Heather.

It wasn't worry for Jake's safety.

Gail sensed she was stepping into a mine field and didn't particularly want to place herself in the position of having to make a proverbial quick getaway. She chose her words carefully. "He and Heather went to the ranch earlier today to take care of the horses and borrow some plumbing fixtures to do some repairs around here. They probably just decided to ride out the storm there."

"Think I should drive out there and make sure everything's okay?"

Gail shook her head. "No, I think you should dry off and sit for awhile."

"You're afraid of what I would find out there, aren't you?"

Emily's words didn't entirely surprise Gail. Her attempts to sidestep the conversation were too little too late. "Emily Sullivan, you and I both know that Jake is not the type of man who would cheat on you. The only thing I'm afraid of is that you'll get yourself or someone else hurt driving out there in this rain when you're obviously upset—or if you do make it out there, you'll end up doing or saying something you'll regret." Gail gave Emily a meaningful look before she walked down the hall to the linen closet and pulled out a towel and blanket for her guest.

Tears stung Emily's eyes, and she willed them away as Gail extended the towel to her. "I—" she began but stopped as she ran the towel along her wet arms and rubbed her hair.

"Come sit by the fire. I'll get you some coffee."

Emily shook her head as she walked toward the fireplace. "Thanks, but I'm going to pass on the coffee. I just…" she sighed loudly, "I don't understand what's going on with him. He's put up this wall that I can't break through. Everything I do, everything I say is wrong. Yesterday was the first time I'd seen him smile in weeks."

That hadn't escape Gail's notice, either.

"It wasn't always like this with us, you know," Emily went on as her eyes went to the photo albums open on the coffee table. Staring up at her from the table was a picture of Jake and her. They must've been twelve or thirteen. Both wore baseball caps and mussed uniforms. Emily remembered how she'd fought tooth and nail to play baseball instead of girls' softball, and she'd been a good athlete. That summer of their first kiss, of baseball, of just feeling suddenly so grown up, had been one of the best of Emily's life. It was the summer before her father went to prison, the summer before her mother got sick for the first time, the summer when everything looked so incredibly bright.

"I know." Gail had watched her son's relationship with Emily evolve over the years, from that of childhood friendship to first loves. From rushing headfirst to slamming into brick walls. Gail had seen Emily pull Jake out of trouble, and she'd seen Emily put him in situations where there could be no positive outcome. They pulled together, and they pulled apart, over and over, tearing each other and themselves down in the process.

After Jake left town, it had been a relief to Gail when Emily moved on with Roger Hammond. When she and Johnston had received a wedding invitation, Johnston had grumbled about attending, but Gail was anticipating it. Perhaps finally Emily would find the happiness that eluded her. And if Emily could find happiness elsewhere, then so could Jake. The cycle would be broken.

But that was not the way it had worked out.

And Gail watched as Emily went from Roger back to Jake again. It had seemed so sudden and yet so inevitable.

Emily nervously chewed on her lip. "I shouldn't bother you with this."

Gail took a deep breath. She had been wont to get involved in her son's relationship, but as she studied the woman who had, at times, been like her own daughter, she could no longer bite her tongue. "Are you happy, Emily?"

Gail's question caught Emily off guard. "What do you mean?"

"It's not a trick question."

"I…" Emily frowned as she thought for a moment. Her eyes falling to the floor, she shook her head ever so slightly.

Gail pressed on, "What would it take for you to be happy?"

"I just…I don't know. Maybe if Jake would open up to me, involve me in his life the way he used to, if we could just go back to how things were before…"

Gail knew what Emily was going to say. Before Chris died. Before Jake left town.

No, Jake didn't just leave. He was driven out of town—by Emily's rejection, her anger toward him, and by his own grief. Gail had to take a deep breath to keep from tearing into the woman who stood across from her. Could Emily really not see that so much of what she thought was wrong in her life was her own doing?

Amazingly, Gail found the strength to keep her voice even. "There's your problem right there."

Emily was startled by the interruption. "I don't understand."

"It's not up to Jake or any other man—including your father—to make you happy. It's up to _you_. What do you want that you can provide _yourself_?"

Emily did not respond to Gail's question. Instead she dropped the towel onto the hearth and murmured, "I should get going. When Jake comes home, please let him know I was asking about him and that I really need to talk to him."

"Emily, I'm not trying to scare you away. I want things to work out for you. I want you to be happy."

"But not with Jake," Emily replied numbly.

"That's not my call," Gail replied. "That's for you and Jake to decide."

Emily tilted her head, a look of exasperation on her features. "But you think that Jake would be better off without me. You always have."

"This isn't about what I do or don't think," Gail repeated.

"Isn't it, though?" Emily crossed the living room toward the foyer, stopping once her hand hit the doorknob. "I love your son. I always have. Jake and I…we're always going to be tied to one another."

"I don't doubt that, Emily, but your happiness—your identity—should never be wrapped up in another person."

"And if someone said that to you about Johnston?" Emily asked. As soon as the words came from her mouth, she wished she could take them back. The pained expression on Gail's face only verified that she'd crossed the line. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

Her voice steely, Gail replied, "No, you shouldn't have, but because you did, let me make one thing clear. There is no comparison between my relationship with Johnston and yours with my son. I'd like to think that Johnston and I brought out the best in each other—not the worst. We spent four decades building a life together, not tearing each other down. If you don't listen to anything else I say, hear this, Emily: you aren't going to be happy with anyone unless you are happy with yourself. And you aren't going to be happy until you stop demanding more from others than you are willing to give yourself."

Wordlessly, Emily opened the door and walked into the rain.

* * *

_To be continued in chapter 12..._


	16. Chapter 12, Part A

**Author's Notes:** A special thanks goes out to skyrose, my ever-talented Beta reader.

**Warnings: **None

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve, Part A: "Complications"**

Some time later, Jake lay in the recliner, sleep eluding him. He'd been going nonstop for nearly twenty hours, but while his body was tired, his mind was racing. He opened his eyes, looked over at the sofa, and could see Heather lying on her side, her eyes still open and focused on the fire.

"You're still awake," he murmured.

"So are you."

"Can't sleep. Feel like my mind is racing a mile a minute."

"You've had a lot going on," Heather said quietly.

"You, too." Jake's eyes ran to the ceiling, watching the shadows being cast on the wood beams.

"I don't know about that. I've spent two of the last four weeks blissfully ignorant," Heather said with a sigh, remembering vaguely the activity around her when she would drift back into consciousness. They'd said she had the flu—had been hit hard by it—but Heather continued to have doubts about whether it was the flu that felled her. After all, she always thought that her immune system was incredibly resilient. How else could she constantly be surrounded by runny-nosed, coughing students and not catch everything that came her way? "The other two I spent trying to get back here."

"But before that…" Jake began. He watched her sink back onto the pillow, pull it closer, and purse her lips. He let his question drop.

She lightly cleared her throat. "What do you think is going to happen, Jake? I mean, is this it? Are we stuck with a government we didn't choose for ourselves?"

He'd been asking himself the same question, and invariably he came to the same conclusion. "I don't know."

Heather squeezed her pillow nervously. "I was never much of a conspiracy theorist. Old Oliver had it all figured out, but me—I always thought there had to be a logical explanation for everything."

"What are you thinking?"

A silence hung in the air before Heather answered his question. "That I'm turning into a conspiracy theorist. Things are too convenient."

"What do you mean?"

"Earlier today when Emily and I ran into each other, she told me about the history textbooks that Jennings & Rall sent over to the school intending for her to use. Not only did they have the information about the October 1 attacks but also a new spin on the decades leading up to the attacks. The thing is it takes _years_ to develop new textbooks."

Jake's brow furrowed. "Years, you say?"

"_Years_." She paused as her eyes flitted to the ceiling. "I can't imagine that new textbooks would be the first priority of any government following a national catastrophe like what we had—unless it's a new government seeking to indoctrinate the population. And what better way to do that than with the children?" The thought made her queasy, but it fit with what she knew and with what the government had done thus far, including the never ending cycle of propaganda pieces they broadcast and passed off as news.

"Have you talked about this with anyone?" he asked.

"Other than Emily and you? No." Heather swallowed hard.

"Don't, not even Lieutenant Hamilton." He weighed his words carefully, wading through the information he held but dared not reveal. "I'm with you. Something's not right, and you don't want the wrong people to catch wind of your suspicions."

"But Hamilton could shed some light on this for us," Heather challenged.

Jake frowned. He didn't like the thought of her relying too much on Lieutenant Hamilton for a number of reasons, the least of which being that he could tell the lieutenant had more than a passing interest in Heather. "Maybe, but do you really want to place your trust in someone who has sworn allegiance to the very group you distrust?"

"I think he's a good man, Jake."

Jake rubbed his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose. The last thing he wanted to hear was a list of the lieutenant's finer points. "Try to divorce yourself from the emotions. If this were someone else in your situation, would you recommend sharing these suspicions with a man who is a representative of the Cheyenne government?"

"But he's not Tomarchio's mouthpiece."

"Doesn't matter. He's not here to protect Jericho's interests. He's here to protect his own." Jake watched as Heather pulled the blanket more tightly around herself. "You cold? I could stoke the fire."

"No, I'm fine. I just…" her voice trailed off briefly as she collected her thoughts. What Jake said made sense if she were to be rational. Yet she couldn't shake the sense that Hamilton could prove to be a valuable friend. His easy-going manner was not an act for her benefit; she was convinced it was genuine. Then again, she'd been certain that Emily, as her 'best' friend, had her interests at heart. That definitely hadn't turned out to be the case. "So what do we do? Go along to get along? We can't even get word out of Jericho, and the information that comes to us is so closely monitored."

"We're being kept isolated," Jake acknowledged.

"Jake, if it's happening to us here, it must be happening everywhere."

"Keep us scattered, distract us, make us dependent on Cheyenne for our basic needs, feed us propaganda, and eventually, we'll accept what we're told, accept a new way of life."

"You _have_ thought about this."

"You could say that."

"'Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn't pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same, or one day we will spend our sunset years telling our children and our children's children what it was once like in the United States where men were free.'"

"Ronald Reagan," Jake commented, the eeriness of the former President's words sinking in.

"Good catch," she replied with raised brows. "How'd you know?"

"My dad was a fan. When we cleaned his study after…" Jake cleared his throat, "…after his death, Eric and I found a Reagan biography on his desk. That was one of the highlighted passages."

"My dad used to keep a calendar of quotations on his desk. I'd," she cringed inwardly, "memorize the quotes each day."

"You needed a hobby."

"Yeah," she acknowledged. "You can say that again. Though I'm your go-to girl for those emergencies when you really need a good quote. 'Friends, Romans, countrymen…'"

"I'll remember that," he chuckled.

Her tone turned solemn. "Things are never going to be the same, are they?"

Jake didn't reply. What was there for him to say?

Heather shut her eyes, though sleep did not come. When she stopped long enough to think about what had happened to them—rather than just concentrating on survival—she felt despondent. The events that were set in motion that day changed not just the course of a nation but the lives of millions upon millions of people. She was one of the lucky ones, she knew, but what about those who died in the blasts? Perhaps they were luckier than those who did see it coming, those who were affected by radiation and died slowly and painfully. Then there were those for whom the blasts would not have been a death sentence, save for the fact that they were dependent on medications, like insulin, that were either no longer available or had gone bad due to lack of refrigeration. Heather thought of people like Mrs. Voigt, her neighbor in her apartment building on Oak Street, who fell and shattered her leg. Before the bombs, her recovery would have been painful, but she would have recovered. Instead, her leg had to be amputated, and Mrs. Voigt, amid her depression, amid the pain, overdosed on old medications she had stashed in the apartment and died. The bombs claimed more victims than the actual blasts or radiation would suggest. Victims like Mr. Bitner, who froze in a winter without any way to heat his home, and Jake and Eric's dad, who lost his life in a battle with New Bern, a battle that would never have taken place if not for the bombs.

She swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes tightly, willing the tears that formed there to vanish. Heather had never liked crying, particularly in front of others, but it was difficult to keep her emotions in check considering the emotional rollercoaster on which she'd been a traveler.

It was then that she felt Jake's nearness. Her eyes fluttered open, her lashes heavy with tears, and she blurrily saw him leaning over the couch and felt him placing an extra blanket over her.

"Thanks," she murmured.

"You okay?" he asked kneeling next to the couch.

"Fine. Just thinking."

"It's going to get better, Heather." The words came quickly, though with just as much immediacy, guilt washed over him. How could he make such assertions knowing what he did? He was either being a fool or a liar, and neither possibility was particularly appealing.

She managed the smallest of smiles and closed her eyes again, this time finding sleep within a few moments.

* * *

Jake felt like he had just closed his eyes when it was daylight again. In actuality, a decent amount of time had passed, but he'd been running on empty for so long, his body hadn't yet adjusted. He would've slept longer if not for the sound of a key clumsily turning the doorknob of the front door. He felt for his gun and was dismayed to remember that it was not by his side but was, instead, on the mantle of the fireplace. As the fog on his brain began to clear, it occurred to him that a robber or ne'er do well would not bother to use a key to the front door, so the possibilities of the identity of the visitor were narrowed in his mind to two people.

The sound of the rattling of the doorknob awakened Heather, as well, who sat up on the couch, her eyes still bleary and her hair mussed.

"Oh good, you two are awake," Gail Green announced as she walked into the living room surveying a tired Jake and Heather. She wasn't surprised to see that they were in the living room, having slept separately. It was like she told Emily: Jake wasn't the type of man to cheat. If only the woman Jake had chosen for himself could see that about him. "And still in one piece from the looks of you."

Heather pushed her blanket down in an effort to swing her legs off the couch and was met with cool air, a contrast to the warmth she felt nestled in her makeshift bed. "Sorry, Mrs. Green." The older woman tilted her head, a look of warning filling her features. "Gail," Heather amended with a sleepy smile. "Charlotte was acting up." She stifled a yawn. "Storms and cracked distributor caps do not make a good combination." Their reason for staying at the ranch house was perfectly chaste, but Heather felt her cheeks color nonetheless, suddenly feeling the way a randy teenager who'd been caught in a clench must feel. Would Jake's mom disapprove of their having stayed at the ranch house together?

"We thought it would be better to stay here and ride out the storm. Hope you weren't too worried," Jake finished.

"Not too worried," Gail replied, "but you know moms. No matter how old their children are…" her voice trailed off before adding, "I had to check on you, just to make sure." True enough, she'd had occasion over the last six months to watch both of her boys ride off into what she feared would be their deaths. Things had calmed somewhat, but the world was different, harsher. The safety she used to feel with Johnston, gone.

"I should go see if I can get Charlotte running." Heather turned to Jake. "Have any spare rags?"

Jake nodded. "I think Gramps kept some in the laundry room unless those got tossed out or used in the med center."

"I'm pretty sure they're still there," Gail supplied. Though it had been several years since E.J.'s death, Johnston had taken pains to keep the ranch house unchanged. It was one small concession that Gail could allow her husband, though she worried from time to time that Johnston's lack of interest in cleaning out the house was a sign that he wasn't moving forward. Who was she to argue with that now, though? If Jake or Eric insisted that she begin throwing away mementos of her husband, she would put down her foot immediately.

Jake nodded and started down the hall, while Gail noted the color in Heather's cheeks and the way Heather's eyes followed Jake as he left the room. Perhaps Emily did have a reason to worry, after all. The bond between Jake and Heather was so palpable Gail would have been blind not to notice. And one thing Gail Green prided herself upon was understanding people. "Did you sleep okay?" she asked conversationally. "The storm was loud at times."

"Everything was fine." More than fine. Heather felt so connected to him, through the laughter and memories they shared, and through the new memories they made. "Jake was good company."

Gail walked to the fireplace mantle and spotted Jake's gun lying next to framed photos, as well as the assortment of clothes hanging from the hooks on which they used to hang Christmas stockings. "I like to think so, but I'm not exactly impartial." From the flush on Heather's cheeks, Gail suspected that Heather wasn't exactly impartial either. She smiled warmly at the young woman as she circled the room, in keeping with her habit of never being still for too long.

Heather sensed Gail's appraisal of her and added, "Both of your sons are good men." She walked to the fireplace, stretching along the way, and picked up her shoes. They were still slightly damp, but Heather was ready to brave them.

"Thank you. I—" Gail smiled at Jake as he entered the room with a handful of rags. "Your ears must've been burning. We were just talking about you."

"Should I be worried?" Jake's eyes shifted from his mother to Heather, a look of amusement on the older woman's features to accompany the look of unease on the younger woman's countenance.

"No," Heather replied as she pulled on the shoes, which despite some lingering dampness were quite warm from their proximity to the fire. "It's all good."

Jake bridged the distance between himself and Heather, and pressed the clean rags into her hands. Gail watched the way her son's hand lingered over the young woman's, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips.

"Need help?" he asked.

"No," she replied with a smile. Her tone changed, as though she was making a grand confession. "This won't be the first time I've had to perform surgery on Charlotte."

"And it likely won't be the last," Jake added, a teasing smile crossing his features.

"Every vehicle requires regular maintenance for optimal performance." The words were reminiscent of an owner's manual, but the mirth in her voice was unmistakable.

"Some more than others."

Heather felt compelled to defend Charlotte's honor. Sure, the old truck had her quirks, but that was just her personality. "As the owner of a classic car yourself, you must be all too familiar with that."

Oh no, she didn't. She did _not _just lump Charlotte in with his Roadrunner! "Hey, my Roadrunner sat in a parking garage for five years, and all it took to get it going again was a pair of jumper cables and a good Samaritan." Jake's teasing tone gave way to a slight frown as he remembered the last time he'd seen the Roadrunner-- when he'd gone to New Bern to rescue his brother and, he was hoping, bring Heather home with them. It was the same trip when he'd watched the more aggressive questioning of his brother, when they two of them had been placed in front of a rabid New Bern mob, and when Eric had told him that Heather had been executed.

"Fair enough, and all it's going to take to get Charlotte running again is some TLC and…" her eyes flitted down to the rags Jake got for her, "…these rags."

"We'll have to find you a new distributor cap."

"Mmmm. Let's hope it doesn't take as many twists and turns as my hot water heater adventure."

The twists and turns were what had enabled them to spend time together, and that, Jake couldn't regret. What he wouldn't give to have another day with her away from everything going on around them! "Let's hope it does."

Gail cleared her throat. She'd been watching the conversation between the two as though it were a tennis match; they'd obviously forgotten she was there with them. The banter between them had Gail alternately delighted and concerned. It was good to see in the man before her remnants of the boy she once knew, the boy who didn't carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, the young man whose laughter used to warm her heart. Heather brought out the best in Jake; Gail had no doubts about that. But where would they go from there? Was her son playing both sides against the middle? Gail could barely stomach the thought before she pushed aside the thought. No, he wouldn't do that, but it was obvious he would have to resolve the situation one way or another, and no matter what happened, someone would be hurt. "Jake, I'll help you fold these blankets. Then we'll go check on the horses." Mom-code for 'We need to talk.'

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. "Told you I do chores," he said with a smile before backing away from Heather. He motioned his head in the direction of the clothes hanging along the fireplace mantle.

Heather's cheeks colored slightly, remembering what Jake had told her the night before—that eventually he would see her underwear—though he did add the caveat that it was because he helped his mother with chores.

Heather looked from Jake to Gail. Recognizing that Gail wanted to speak with her son, Heather took her cue. "I'll catch up with you two in a few minutes."

By the time Heather made her way out the door, Gail had already picked up a blanket and begun folding it. Jake lagged behind, which drew Gail's attention. He was standing by the window, the curtain drawn back, looking out into the sunny day. Correction. He was looking out at Heather who was making her way to Charlotte.

"I don't think she's going to leave without you," Gail said wryly.

That tone. Jake fought irritation realizing that his mother had caught him watching Heather. Yes, she knew him all too well.

Jake left the window and walked to the recliner, retrieved his blanket, and began folding it. "You working at the clinic today?"

"I have a later shift," Gail replied. "Kenchy and Jessica had both wanted their schedules rearranged." She paused meaningfully. "To accommodate Emily, I believe." Her steely eyes fell upon her son, an unspoken question hanging between them.

Back to reality. The perfect time Jake enjoyed the night before seemed disproportionately longer ago with each passing minute. "Emily and I had plans last night," Jake muttered. "I didn't get there, obviously."

"Obviously," Gail echoed. "Emily came by the house last night."

Jake said nothing.

"Aren't you wondering how she seemed?"

He scowled. "Mad as hell, I'm guessing."

Gail fluffed a pillow. "No, she was lost." She raised an eyebrow. "And you—I get the impression that you didn't want to be found by me today. You and Heather barely even knew I was here." Jake opened his mouth to say something but then closed it. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have because once he did, it would make what he needed to do real. Yet his mother pressed on. "What's going on with you, Jake? Emily's a mess and you're, well, you're happier than I've seen you in a long time."

Jake sucked in a breath. "How bad was it when she came over?"

Gail frowned remembering her own lost patience with the young woman. So many feelings warred within her where Emily Sullivan was concerned. She saw good qualities in the young woman—her bravery, her intelligence, which Gail felt many people underestimated—but she also saw qualities that gave Gail pause. That glint of danger was so reminiscent of Jonah Prowse. More than anything, though, the hold Emily had over Jake, an unhealthy hold by her estimation, based on history and guilt, unnerved Gail. She'd tried to stay out of their conflicts over the years, but it was difficult to be passive when Gail saw Emily's insecurities and selfishness cause Jake so much grief. "Bad. She's worried about losing you."

"Yeah, well…"

"In an unhealthy way, Jake," Gail interrupted. "There's always been that draw between the two of you. Like moths to a flame, your dad used to say." She didn't have to say what happened when the moths came too close to the heat; Jake knew firsthand. "I told her that you and Heather were out here."

Jake swore under his breath.

"I wasn't going to lie, Jake."

"I didn't expect you to." Gail piled folded blankets into Jake's arms, and he headed down the hallway to the linen closet, calling back to his mother, "I'm surprised she didn't drive out here to give me a piece of her mind."

"I think she wanted to, but she was worried what she would find." Gail noted the scowl on his face as he returned from his foray down the hall. "Jake, if you're going to be with Emily, you can't spend time with Heather. You do know that, don't you?" Jake shifted uncomfortably. "It's only going to make the situation with Emily more difficult." Gail paused. "And I think you'll make things harder for yourself, too. The more time you spend with Heather, the more difficult it'll be to let her go."

"I'm not going to let Heather go. Not again." The words tumbled out before Jake could stop them.

"You two have talked about this?" Gail asked, her eyes widening in surprise.

"No, not until I settle things with Em." Jake would let the cards fall where they may. No guts, no glory. He wasn't going to be one of those guys who lined up the next girlfriend before he'd broken up with the old one.

"Be gentle with Emily, Jake."

"Don't know that I can be," he replied. As he filled in his mother on what Emily told Heather about their upcoming marriage, Gail felt the blood drain from her face. Could Emily really be _that_ petty? Gail hadn't thought it possible, but then again, if she felt backed into a corner, Emily wasn't the type of woman to play dead. She would come out swinging with whatever means, whatever ammunition, necessary. Gail had seen it before, only this time, her efforts backfired. In trying to keep Jake and Heather apart, Emily managed to bring them closer.

"What does Heather think of all this?" Gail asked.

"She's hurt. She doesn't want to believe the worst about Emily, but I've known Emily too long. I know how she works."

"Then why do you keep going back?" Her voice was amazingly patient and did not betray the frustration she felt over watching Jake make the same mistake over and over again.

Jake shook his head. "I don't know. Keep hoping things will be different. Haven't figured out how to live with or without her." And hadn't that always been their story? They fought. They made up. They yelled, they fought more, they made up again. In a sense, it excited them both, kept them on edge. The lows were low, but the highs were high. He'd always accepted it as the way he and Emily were together, that they weren't going to be like his parents. At least they weren't going to be like _her_ parents, either. Emily wasn't particularly easy to live with, but then again, neither was he. He never saw the possibility of a relationship being anything other than a constant tug of war or battle of wills.

Not until he met Heather.

Heather Lisinski complicated the hell out of his life.

Yet if there were no Heather, would he be willing to take that step with Emily that she wanted? Would they finally be getting married? They'd had their chances, without a doubt. And still there was always something to slow their forward momentum. There was always something that held him back. A lack of commitment? Jake had made more than his share of mistakes, but the idea of being married didn't make him want to run for the hills. But the idea of being married to Emily…

So no, he had to acknowledge that this wasn't about Heather. Not entirely. She certainly made no demands of him. Was it the novelty of learning about someone new? No. While he was enjoying getting to know her, he'd met many women over the years, none of whom captured him in the same way Heather did.

So, yes, she complicated the hell out of his life, but somehow it all seemed worth it.

Despite their problems, despite all that had happened between them, Emily loved him. Knowing the mistakes he made, she loved him anyway. Would anyone else be able to handle his past and love him? Would Heather?

Jake couldn't answer that yet. He felt like if anyone had the capacity to overlook his shortcomings it would be her, but what if her goodness, one quality which drew him to her, would not allow her to look at him with anything but contempt once she knew everything there was to know about him?

Jake pushed aside those thoughts. Not only were they counterproductive, they were also moot.

"The cycle needs to end, one way or another, Jake. You deserve to be happy." Jake averted his gaze, and Gail reached out to touch his face, directing his chin to force him look her in the eyes. "Stop badgering yourself for the things you can't change."

Reconciling with Emily hadn't felt right since the beginning. He thought that being with her again would be like coming home. Instead, everything about their time together felt forced and unnatural. They weren't in sync physically or emotionally.

"Look, I already know what I have to do."

"I'm sorry, honey. I know it's not going to be easy."

"Nothing ever is."

Gail turned from Jake before he could see the relief on her face. "Ready to go check on the horses?"

* * *

_to be continued in Chapter 12, Part B..._


	17. Chapter 12, Part B

**Author's Notes:** A special thanks goes out to skyrose, my ever-talented beta reader.

**Warnings:** mild profanity

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 12, Part B**

When Heather first heard the crackling of the gravel, she thought it was her imagination, but as she peered around the open hood of Charlotte and the outline of a Humvee came into view, her initial impression was replaced by dread. Were they there for her? Had they tracked her down to arrest her for what happened in New Bern? If Major Beck was investigating as he was purported to be doing, would she be in the proverbial line of fire? Would they use her as an example? Deftly, she tightened the distributor cap and took a deep breath, willing herself to calm.

Heather prepared to alert Jake and Gail that they had visitors, but before she had the chance to make her way back to the house, mother and son were on the porch. As Jake walked, he turned slightly, and Heather noticed that his gun was tucked into the back of his jeans.

The vehicle stopped next to Charlotte, and Heather watched as Major Beck and two soldiers who looked vaguely familiar emerged from the Humvee and began to walk toward Jake, Gail, and her.

"So this is the Green Ranch I've heard about," Major Beck began conversationally. His attempt at small talk fell flat as his appraising eyes fell upon the taller man. "I wouldn't have figured you for a rancher, Jake."

"It was my grandfather's," Jake replied evenly, "and there's a lot about me you don't know."

Beck looked unconvinced, which only made Jake's mood turn more sour.

"What brings you out here?" Gail asked stepping forward next to Jake trying to offer a soothing presence.

"Good morning, Mrs. Green. It's not my intention to intrude. I was hoping that I might have a word with Jake." Beck looked to Jake. "Perhaps you can show me your ranch. It would give us the chance to speak privately."

Jake's scowl was unmistakable as he surveyed the other man. "Let's walk."

Beck nodded. The two soldiers—Heather read their name tags: Parker and Dominguez—began to follow Jake and Beck. The major lifted his hand, motioning them to stop. "Stay here and assist Ms. Lisinski with whatever mechanical needs she may have with her truck."

Heather frowned. What made Major Beck think that she would accept the help of two men whose expertise was unknown to her? Besides, didn't he already know that she was fairly handy with all things mechanical? It made no sense to her, unless the major wanted to speak with Jake alone without clueing the men with him to that fact.

Beck wanted to speak with _Jake_, she repeated mentally, relief washing over her. The major wasn't there for her. "And Ms. Lisinski, later today at your convenience, please stop by my office so we can finish our conversation."

Heather's mouth suddenly felt very, very dry. She managed a nod, trying to maintain her composure while all the while feeling as though her knees were quaking.

"Your conversation with the major?" Gail queried as she watched Beck and her son walking in the distance.

"About what happened in New Bern," Heather replied quietly.

"Heather, what _did_ happen there?" Gail's eyes were wide, hoping that Heather would share some of her experiences, for Eric would not speak of them. She longed to know more, to understand what her younger son had endured. New Bern had cost their family immeasurably. When she saw Eric at the medical center, his face bloody and swollen, the haunted look giving way to a hardened one, Gail needed to know.

The people of New Bern had cost her Johnston. _No, not the people_, she reminded herself. _Their leadership, their despot. But by the grace of God go we…._

"A lot. The worst of humanity—and some of the best." Heather knew her answers were vague, but she found it impossible to say more. Not now. Not like this. She turned away and looked at the two soldiers, one who looked to be a private and the other a second lieutenant, both of whom were beginning to inspect the aged truck.

"Thanks, gentlemen, but I can handle the maintenance," Heather said crisply, addressing their two guests.

"Major Beck instructed us to assist you, Ma'am," countered Dominguez as he awkwardly picked up a wrench Heather had lying on the truck.

"No offense, Private, but do you even know what that tool is called?"

The private opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and shut his mouth again. Lieutenant Parker looked on, a bemused expression crossing his features, one that surprised Heather considering the importance of protocol. Heather knew all too well the value placed upon rules, regulation, and propriety; her time at Camp Hayward had been an opener, indeed.

Heather squared her shoulders, trying to look taller, authoritative. "I've got this one covered already."

* * *

"How'd you know I was here?"

"You and Ms. Lisinski went through a checkpoint yesterday afternoon, listed this as your destination, but never returned. It was reasonable to assume that you would be here and...," his dark eyes moved between Jake who walked three feet from him and Heather in the distance, who was addressing one of his soldiers with her hands on her hips, "…not in New Bern." He wondered if he'd be hearing about that conversation from Ms. Lisinski later. Edward Beck was a man of detail, and one detail he'd not forgotten was Heather Lisinski's expertise with all things in motion.

"You keep telling me that justice will be served, and if it is, I have no reason to go to New Bern." Though Jake tried to keep his voice even, he couldn't hide the edge that crept into it. "So whatever it is couldn't wait until I returned?"

"Have you considered my offer? It'd be much easier if you'd work with me than against me," Beck replied returning his full attention to Jake. "I want to see this town back on its feet. We can help each other to that end."

"Why me? There are plenty of people out there who'd be happy to kiss your ass. Yet you keep coming to me."

"You're hardened. You've been tested. When push comes to shove, you can do what needs to be done."

"Nah. You're keeping me close because you think I'm trouble."

"That, too," Beck conceded.

"And what exactly do you think I'll need to do as sheriff of Jericho that requires such qualities? Jericho's a small town."

"Yes, a small town that went to war with its neighbor. Jericho might be small, but it's not ordinary. Add into the mix the possibility of terrorist activity in the area. You've served this town, but you've also seen what it is to fight. Not just in the skirmish between Jericho and New Bern."

Jake stopped on his tracks. "How much do you know?"

"Enough. So what's it going to be?"

Jake took a deep breath. Of course Beck had access to everything there was to know about his past in Afghanistan and Iraq, his involvement with Ravenwood, the interest the FBI had shown in him. Only a less thorough man would've overlooked the obvious; Major Beck was nothing if not thorough. "When do I start?"

"Immediately," Beck replied removing a sheriff's badge from the pocket of his military-issue jacket.

"How'd you know…?"

"That you'd take the job? I told you. I'm good at what I do, Jake." Beck straightened his cap. "Come to town hall when you're finished. I'll issue you a sidearm and holster."

Jake instinctively felt for the gun he'd tucked into the waist of his pants.

"Last thing you need is to shoot yourself in the ass."

_'I feel like I already have,'_ Jake thought to himself as Beck strode away and toward his men who now stood by the fencerow.

* * *

Heather closed the hood of her truck. "That should do it." She shot a meaningful look at the two soldiers. Gail found herself suppressing a smile at the triumphant glance the young woman gave the men. Gail had never particularly liked being told that she wasn't capable of doing something, either.

"Aren't you Dorothy?" Dominguez asked, realization crossing his features. "Yeah? Lt. Hamilton's girl?"

"Dorothy?" Gail questioned, though it was the reference to Heather as 'Lt. Hamilton's girl' that peaked her interest even more.

"As in _The Wizard of Oz_," Heather replied, her victorious look vanishing.

"If you don't mind me saying so, Ma'am, I can see why Hamilton's taken with you. Any woman who knows her way around a vehicle the way you do, that's pretty special."

Heather chewed on her bottom lip. She liked Jacob Hamilton. A lot. _Like_ being the operative word. Hamilton was incredibly easy to talk to, kind, easy on the eyes, and charming. Yet she did not feel for him what she did for Jake Green. It would have been much easier for her if she did. There were no complications with Hamilton, no reasons they shouldn't see each other, and he was the type of man that usually appealed to Heather. Generally, she preferred clean-cut, affable, and steady to brooding, edgy, mysterious, act first-ask questions later types of men.

Heather had never had the bad boy complex that so many of her girlfriends in college did. Not until that moment on the school bus when Jake trudged through his own injuries, keeping a little girl alive and calming the nerves of a bus full of frightened children, and Heather found herself curious about him; and the more she learned, the more she liked. Any man who could wire explosives, bribe horses, and listen to John Denver was ridiculously exceptional, indeed.

She had no illusions that he was perfect. In fact, he was deliciously imperfect, but there was just something about him that made her ache to be near him. Even a few minutes ago when he was just passing her rags to work on Charlotte, she found herself mesmerized.

Yet in the light of the day, Heather couldn't help but wonder what good that was going to do her. She and Jake had a great time the night before, but he'd maintained his distance. They were close, but not close enough. It was what she expected, and yet it made her want to be near him all the more. Jake wasn't the man that Emily described to her. If he had been, the least Jake would've done was kiss Heather. And the way she felt about him, she would've been more than willing to do that—and maybe more.

In the distance, she could see Jake. Though she couldn't make out the expression on his face, from the way he held his body, Heather thought he looked tense. She wished she could take that away for him.

And she had no right.

Her friendship with Emily was in shambles. Her family was long gone. Nothing in Jericho was as she remembered it, and this soldier, Dominguez, looked at her as though she had her life put together so perfectly.

The teasing, light-hearted tone in which she spoke belied her words. "I'm not anybody's anything."

She began to walk quickly and Gail followed. "Wait up, Heather," Gail instructed.

Heather slowed her gait, but her instinct was to retreat, to go somewhere and collect herself. Why was she all over the place? She felt like the only thing holding her together was her skin.

"You're wrong, you know," Gail began. "You're selling yourself short. You are important to my boys and me. You're important to our town."

Heather shook her head. "I think I'm still just tired. I didn't mean to make it sound like I'm not grateful to you because I am. Truly I am."

"It's tough when your life changes without warning. All the plans you made for yourself just disappear." Gail linked her arm with the younger woman's as the two of them walked, partly to comfort Heather but partly to comfort herself. Each passing day was minutely easier than the previous but the throbbing she felt was still so palpable and yet her situation so surreal. "On the day of the attacks, Johnston was planning on withdrawing from the mayoral race. Eric was going to run in his place. And after the election, Johnston and I were planning a trip to Paris. I couldn't wait to stroll down the Champs Elyse, indulge in a sinful amount of cheese and wine, and have Johnston all to myself. I had a whole list of museums I wanted to drag him to, and he would've gone with me without complaint, though you can bet his favorite vacation would have consisted of fishing on the Tacoma."

Heather felt gratified that Gail shared the details of her life. She truly wasn't alone. "I wish you would've been able to take your trip."

"Me, too," Gail replied to Heather's earnest comment, "but there's that old saying that life is what happens when you make plans. People expect certain things to happen, and when they don't, there can be disappointment. Sometimes the greatest gifts come without expectation."

Heather nodded. Gail was right. When she thought back to her life only a little over a month ago, she never would have expected to be walking on the Green Ranch again tasting freedom. She certainly never would have imagined the wonderful night she shared with Jake. Okay, scratch that. She might have imagined it, but she never would have thought it possible. But one wonderful night compared to _years_ that Jake and Emily had spent together? Who was she kidding?

"Did I ever tell you how I met Johnston?"

Heather paused for a moment, wondering if Gail's question was rhetorical. The two had not spent an immense amount of time together, though she'd heard bits and pieces about the Green family from Jake, Emily, and, in years past, E.J. "No, you didn't."

"We met at my cousin Tammi's wedding. I was her maid of honor, and I still remember walking down that aisle as though it was yesterday. I mean it. Everything—from the lopsided toupee our Uncle Charlie was wearing to the music that was playing—seems so crisp in my mind. Yet all of that pales in comparison to the moment I first saw _him_. Johnston. He had come with Tammi's brother, my cousin Mark. They were on leave from the Army. I just—" Gail remembered the lines of Johnston's dress uniform, the way the sunlight shone through the church windows and gave what she could only describe as an aura around him, and the way his expressive eyes fell upon her. "I just knew, and it scared me senseless. Later, he asked me to dance, and when he held my hand, that was that. I never wanted him to let go."

"That's lovely."

Gail chuckled lightly. "I thought so at the time until the next day when he confessed that he had a girl back home, a girl he'd dated since they were just kids. Everyone expected that they'd get married. Johnston's parents were counting on it. Her parents were counting on it. They were first loves."

"What did you do when you found out?"

"I was so angry with him, on her behalf, on my behalf, and I really gave him a piece of my mind. He told me later that was when he knew it was love. He broke things off with this other woman, wrote me letter after letter, and won my heart. I didn't see him again until two days before we got married."

"That sounds like something straight from a storybook."

"Looking back, it _feels_ like something from a storybook, though at the time, I had a lot of doubts."

"Really?"

"Oh, you bet. My life was changing so quickly, and I worried about so many things. Was I doing the right thing to marry him so quickly after meeting him for the first time? What about this other young woman? Were my actions hurting her terribly? What about my schooling? I was only halfway through my nursing program. I was a good Irish Catholic girl, and he was a Protestant with no intention of converting. And my future mother-in-law…" Gail exhaled loudly. "…I was a hussy to her. She called me Abigail to my face and Jezebel behind my back. See, I had a lot of reasons to run the other way, a lot of reasons to think that it could never work between us, but I had one very good reason to see it through. We connected. Doesn't mean we always agreed because Lord knows we fought , especially in those early years, but we connected. Our senses of humor, our views of the world, our dreams—we connected."

"I think I know what you're getting at."

"Good. I want to see Jake happy. Heather, first loves aren't always lifelong loves. Jake knows this, though it's taken him a long time to get to the point where he's willing to act on that."

Heather's heart pounded. Was Gail implying what Heather thought she was?

"C'mon," Gail said gently steering Heather on a return path to the truck. "I don't know about you, but I'm curious what Major Beck had to say to Jake."

* * *

Lieutenant Jacob Hamilton was securing the bags in the Humvee that Ted Lewis had given him to deliver to Heather when he heard the tell-tale beep of his short-wave radio and the ensuing static. "Lt. Hamilton, this is Lt. John Garner from Project Home Sequester."

Hamilton's brow furrowed. What would John Garner want with him? Hamilton had nothing to do with the oversight of Phil Constantino's house arrest.

"Acknowledged," Hamilton replied pressing the talk button on the handset.

"Is this a secure channel?"

"Affirmative."

"Lt. Buchs has not reported for duty, which was to begin at 0700 hours."

Hamilton looked at his watch, its digital display reading 9:00 a.m. A sick feeling filtered through him. Barrett Buchs was many things—a lothario, obnoxious at times, and overly confident in his abilities—but one thing he was not was unreliable. How many times in Iraq had Buchs had his back? More than that, Hamilton had seen Buchs work over two sisters at once late at night, and still show for duty early the next day crisp, fresh, and none the worse for wear.

"And you received no word?" Hamilton queried.

"None. I know the two of you are buddies. Thought I'd check with you to see if he's crashing from an all-nighter."

"I'll institute a search. If you don't hear from me in fifteen minutes, alert the C.O. Hamilton out."

Hamilton's eyes fixed on the barracks in the distance and hoped to God that Barrett Buchs was just sleeping something off a Smoky Mountain-sized bender—and that his ass wouldn't be on the line for not alerting the commanding officer immediately.

* * *

"That uniform almost looks like it was made for you."

"That's the idea. Hell, I almost look respectable," the man said as he smoothed the uniform. His fingers fell upon the name badge: LT. BUCHS. "Too bad I didn't pick a guy whose last name was easier to pronounce. How you suppose you say it? With a /ch/ sound or a /k/ sound?"

Green eyes met eyes so like her own. "How am I supposed to know?"

An unabashed grin crossed his stubbly features. "Dad always said you were the smart one in the family."

"What does it matter?" Her tone was impatient, as it frequently became when her brother offered commentary on their father. It was almost easier not to think of Bart Travers and the senselessness of his death, yet her only living family member plagued her with memories of their father, just as surely as her longing for vindication for him plagued her mind.

She took a precious cigarette from the packet Buches(?) or Books(?) had in his pocket when he encountered her brother. "You'll only be wearing it long enough to ensnare that bitch. So what did you do with what's-his-name?"

"You don't want to know." He reached for his can of shaving foam, slathered it on his face, and reached for his razor. Since the bombs, he hadn't taken much care to be presentable, but he'd watched enough of the soldiers to know that appearance regulations still held. Didn't matter what the military called itself.

The young woman nervously pressed the cigarette between her lips, lit it, and inhaled deeply. It had been too long. Far too long. She used to smoke because she liked the buzz the nicotine gave her, plus it helped her keep her svelte figure. Obviously, keeping her weight under control wasn't a problem with all the shortages they had endured.

Unused to the action that in times past seemed second nature, she began to cough, the motion causing her long, red curls to bounce. "This better work," she managed to get out before breaking into another fit of coughs.

"It will. She won't know what hit her, just like what's-his-name didn't know."

* * *

_to be continued in chapter 13..._


	18. Chapter 13, Part A

**Author's Notes:** A special thanks goes out to my beta, Skyrose.

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen, Part A: "Confessions"**

The moisture from the previous night's rain saturated the knees of the blue jeans Emily Sullivan wore as she knelt in the tall grass next to her brother's grave. For what was not the first time, guilt washed over her for not visiting his graveside more often.

She was used to guilt. It had been her constant companion over the last few months. When Jake returned, she felt guilty not just for being glad to see him but for the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach when she did. When Roger and the other refugees staggered into town and Emily saw the haunted look on Roger's once handsome face, she felt guilty for having had a comparatively easier time. After taking Roger home, heating water for a bath for him, and taking him back into her bed, Emily felt guilty for wishing it was another man touching her, kissing her, filling her. When Roger was exiled and refused her offer to accompany him, she was relieved, and that made her feel guilty. When she heard that Heather had been killed in New Bern, she felt guilty for not going to get her when she didn't return after a few days. When Heather came home to Jericho very much alive, Emily's reticence to see her friend prompted more guilt.

So, yes, Emily was familiar with guilt, but none of that compared to the sense of guilt she felt for letting down her brother. She had been four when Chris was born, and she still remembered when her mother placed the infant into her four-year-old arms, helping Emily hold her brother for the first time. _"This is Christopher, Emily. He's your brother. You have to be a big girl and take good care of him."_

Emily promised that she would take care of Chris and love him always. Loving him always? That was no problem. Taking care of him, on the other hand, proved to be more than she could do, especially when she had Jonah and Jake pulling her little brother into a life that Emily did not want for him.

And she was bothered. Bothered by the fact that Chris would not be celebrating his twenty-eighth birthday. Bothered by the fact that the cemetery was overgrown, but she'd not been around to notice. Bothered by the fact that what should have been a happy time in her life was marred by too much uncertainty and loss. Bothered by the fact that she was about to assume more losses.

"So, kiddo, I was thinking about you. Yeah. I know what you're going to say. You're unforgettable, right? Well, save that one for the pretty girls up there. Doesn't work with me." She clenched her eyes shut and took a deep breath before opening her eyes again. "I know I've not been around much. We've had a few things going on here. Guess you know about the nukes, Jake being back, Roger being gone, and the war with New Bern. I'd say that you're lucky you missed the craziness, the hard winter, the…the losses, but knowing you, you'd love to be right in the thick of things. I wish you were here, Chris.

"All this time has passed, and I still can't believe you're gone. You were my biggest cheerleader, you know? You and Jake. Jake's here, but he might as well not be. At least, he's not here for me. Not anymore. " Emily gulped, trying to force the lump that was forming in her throat to dissipate. She'd had little sleep the night before. Listening to rain pounding the roof normally lulled her to slumber, but all she could think about was her argument with Gail and the fact that Jake was with Heather, not with her. Her imagination had run wild with her, and when she did sleep, she dreamt of going to the ranch house, throwing open the door, and finding the two naked, entangled.

"Am I just dense, Chris? I mean, am I turning into Mom? I-I don't know what she saw in Jonah. Our _father_," she spat out the title, "was never there for her, broke her heart into more pieces than could be mended, and still she kept coming back for more. With Jake, I just keep coming back for more, and I do things that don't make me proud.

"It's got to stop. It has to. I just-he's all I have left. Almost all.

"Oh, and my best friend Heather is back. Wish you could meet her. She's cute. A little awkward, perhaps, but wholesome. No baggage. Least, I thought she was wholesome. Wide-eyed. Looks at Jake in adoration. Guess she's shacking up with him now. She needs Jake too much, and Jake loves to be needed.

"So if you've been following everything, you know that Jake still can't sit still for long. He's been running around saving everyone. He's saved me a time or two. But I guess he thinks now that I don't need him enough or now that I'm not a challenge to him, he's moving on. But I do need him, and I absolutely hate that I do.

"Sometimes I think back to the day that you died, Chris. I know I shouldn't. I know that you don't want me to remember you that way, but I can't help myself. I think back, and I get so angry at him. He should've stopped you from going into that store. He should've…" her voice trailed off. "How do I let go?"

"Still not much for forgiveness, are you?"

Emily stood quickly and spun around. Jonah Prowse stood a few feet off.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, the tender expression that she'd reserved for her dead brother hardening once she saw her estranged father. She was surprised she hadn't heard him approach.

"Same as you, Kid. Paying my respects minus the therapy session."

She felt aghast, wondering how much he had heard. The last thing she wanted was for Jonah to know anything about her, about Jake, about…

"Go away."

He stood his ground, his features firm. "I have as much a right to be here as you."

As far as Emily was concerned, that was debatable. Still, another thought came to mind, one far more pragmatic. "How'd you get past the Rangers? The military?"

"You think they have all the entrances and exits to this town covered?" Jonah scoffed. He grimaced looking at the cemetery grounds, the smattering of artificial floral arrangements toppled over, and at some of the gravestones broken by what must have been a stray mortar round from the New Bern attacks.

"You have no right to be here. Even assuming that you had been the perfect father—which you were not!—you have no right. Hell, you weren't even lousy. You were poisonous to us! And then, when I needed you, you hung our town out to dry, Jonah. You killed a man in cold blood, took the weapons that we needed to defend ourselves, and did what you do best! You tucked tail and ran!"

"And what, Em? What do you want me to do? You damn me for leaving a hopeless cause then and you damn me for wanting to stay for a hopeless cause now?"

Once when Emily was nine and Jonah had too much to drink, he had struck her. Her mother soothed her, kept her home from school until the bruises on her face healed, and her father had bought her a small stuffed pony when he sobered up and realized what he had done. It had still hurt, and Emily found little comfort in pony. It was only a reminder of what had happened, and she knew later when she heard her parents arguing that it cost money their family didn't have. He never hit her again, but she always remembered the hurt.

And now Jonah's words hurt. "No one's begging you to stay for _this_ hopeless cause," Emily spat out, pointing to herself. "I'll save us both the trouble." With that, she began to walk down the path, going the opposite way from the man she neither wanted to love or hate, but the man about whom she wanted to feel indifferent. She was afraid she would never be able to embrace indifference.

Jonah watched her leave, thought about giving chase, but decided against it. Instead, he sat against his son's gravestone, pulled a flask from the inner pocket of his jacket, and took a swig. "Wish you were here."

* * *

Jacob Hamilton felt uneasy.

He'd been scared senseless plenty of times. When he was younger, that fright typically came whenever his father's hand touched a bottle, as that meant he or his siblings or their mama would likely feel that hand on them at some later point. When he was sixteen and his mama caught him letting a girl in through his bedroom window, he knew fear. And then there were those weeks spent in basic training. His drill sergeant had instilled in him a healthy dose of dread.

But uneasy? That intangible feeling so difficult to pinpoint had proven to be more elusive in his life.

He was glad to be back in Jericho, eager to see Heather, anxious to speak with her about what Ted had told him. He wanted to keep bad things from happening to her again. His thoughts fell back to what he had heard the afternoon she spoke with Major Beck, and Hamilton was convinced that Heather withheld information from the major. Not that what she told him wasn't bad enough—but Hamilton felt like she must have downplayed it. There was something in her tone, and in getting to know Dorothy better over the last few days and seeing her reaction when he told her he was going to New Bern, Hamilton knew without a doubt that more happened to her than met the eye. And now to hear from Ted that there were whispers in New Bern that she was being targeted? Hamilton had known many people in his twenty-six years, some he liked and some he could do without. None were like Heather Lisinski, though. The thought that someone would want to harm her made him feel fiercely protective—and just plain fierce. Some would have considered him an unlikely soldier. Fighting wasn't something he craved or reveled in like some others with whom he served, but at the same time, he wasn't one to back down from a fight, particularly not when he believed in a cause. And he couldn't think of any better cause than protecting Heather Lisinski.

Then there was that part of him that wished he were still in New Bern, still looking for Buchs. You don't leave a man behind. It had been ingrained in him from the first day of basic training. Yet that was what Hamilton felt he was doing: leaving a man behind. Others were continuing their search for Buchs, but the others were not invested in finding the missing man the way Hamilton was. Barrett Buchs was his best friend.

So as Hamilton pulled his duffle bag from the Humvee at his encampment, along with the bag of items that Ted Lewis had put together for Heather, he could not shake the uneasiness he felt and wished, for what wasn't the first time, that he could be in two places at once.

After checking in at camp, he began to head by foot to town hall. Passing the church yard, he was surprised to see Emily Sullivan walking briskly from the unkempt cemetery. Her face was blotched with red, and he noticed the large, round wet spots on the knees of her jeans.

She was a pretty thing, to be sure. If he could notice the redness of her face from that distance, he'd have to be blind not to notice her beauty. And yet he couldn't say that he was particularly attracted to her. His impression when he saw her at the tavern the first night he was in town, coupled with her lack of desire to help out at the library the day before, had him feeling like she was more style than substance. Emily Sullivan and Heather Lisinski seemed like an odd combination, indeed, for friends.

It was then that Emily caught sight of him, awareness crossing her features as she slowed her movements, seemingly hesitating, before altering her path to coincide with his.

"Mind if I walk with you?" she asked, though Hamilton figured that she had her mind set to walk with him for some purpose, whether he approved of it or not.

"Be my guest. You looked like you were on your way somewhere…"

Emily glanced over her shoulder, frowning. "No. I'm going nowhere."

Hamilton sucked in a breath. He thought he was in a bad mood, but whatever was going through Emily Sullivan's mind seemed infinitely worse if her scowl was any indication. "I'm on my way to town hall."

Emily merely frowned.

"You know, if you keep frownin' that way, your face is gonna get stuck."

"Who says?" Emily replied sullenly.

"My mama. She's always right."

"She's someone you admire, isn't she?"

"Strongest woman I know."

"You don't know how lucky you are." She bit her bottom lip, her thoughts drifting to her own mother. She had been beautiful. When Emily got past the disappointment, the sense of her mother's weaknesses, she always came back to that. People used to always tell her that she looked just like her mother, but when Emily thought of the paleness of her mother's skin, a contrast to the rich crimson of the blood that flowed from her wrists, Emily could find little resemblance. And yet when she thought of the hold Jonah had over her mother and the hold Jake held over her, Emily wondered if they were the same person.

"Oh, I know how lucky I am, Ms. Sullivan." Hamilton's earnestness struck Emily, prompting the image of her mother to flee from her mind, replaced by the sight of the man with whom she walked. His hazel eyes were warm, his tanned face smooth, his sandy hair closely cropped to his head, and his shoulders broad and well-muscled. Heather could do much worse than this, so why did she have to poach her relationship with Jake? Hamilton's next words shook Emily from her thoughts. "Your family?"

Emily cleared her throat. "It's just me now."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's been that way for a long time. Anyway, it's not really my family I want to talk about. It's Heather."

Hamilton choked back a chortle. "I thought we covered that topic yesterday at the library."

Emily shoved her hands in her back pockets as they walked side by side. "You seem like a nice guy."

"I try to be."

"You deserve better."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that Heather isn't what she seems. She's not this innocent, doe-eyed…"

Hamilton stopped in his tracks. "Then she wouldn't be the only one who isn't what she seems." His tone hardened. "Yesterday you were championin' her as your best friend. Now you're warnin' me off her? Why the change?"

Emily hesitated for a minute, thought about telling him about Jake and Heather, but could not give voice to the thoughts that plagued her. "Just watch yourself. Don't get too attached. You'll only end up disappointed."

"Ms. Sullivan, you are unbelievable. And not in a good way. I don't need you—someone who obviously has some kinda ax to grind along with the emotional stability of a two year old—givin' me relationship advice. Take care of your own business and leave mine alone."

He kept walking, leaving Emily to stew in her own misery.

* * *

When Heather Lisinski first moved to Jericho, she was delighted to find the town hall was a familiar and centralized place to conduct business. How different from New Bern where so many departments were spread over several miles! In Jericho, it was just as easy to walk to town hall and pay her electric bill after work as it was to mail her payment. That was probably a good thing because often there was some question whether Charlotte would provide the needed transportation. Indeed, school board meetings were held in town hall, and Heather had been beyond thrilled to be in attendance at the meeting in which she was granted tenure. Town hall also housed the sheriff's department. From time to time, Heather would meet with Sheriff Dawes about the mentoring program she spearheaded between Jericho Elementary and the Jericho Sheriff's Department.

Now when Heather entered town hall, the familiarity she once felt seemed misplaced. Certainly, the portraits of former mayors still adorned the entry, along with the makeshift memorial to Johnston Green that she'd noted upon her return to Jericho days earlier. Many of the faces were the same: Jimmy Taylor, Bill Kohler, for instance.

Jake would be here, too, as the new sheriff. Though how much time he would spend in his new office with the military crawling around, she couldn't guess. Heather was still trying to get used to the idea of Sheriff Green, but pleased that he would have some say in an official capacity for what happened in Jericho. When she thought of all that he'd done for the town since the day of the bombs, it seemed appropriate somehow, though from what she'd heard of some of his more colorful exploits, ironic.

But Heather wasn't here to relive her past in Jericho. She was to relive her past in New Bern, a necessary evil that she dreaded beyond measure. Two days earlier, she had been relieved when her debriefing by Major Beck was cut short by a call from Colonel Hoffman. Heather's mind briefly flitted to the time she'd met Colonel Hoffman, the man who oversaw the A.S. Army's operations in the northern half of Kansas and the southern half of Nebraska. He wasn't unlike some of the men who used to visit her father on occasion, old Army buddies who talked about the not-so-good-old-days in Vietnam. They were men she saw as people, just as the colonel had seemed very human to Heather as she met—okay, accosted—him while a wound on his arm was being tended.

Major Beck, on the other hand, seemed less than human to Heather. She had the sense that he was not a power hungry man. She'd seen enough would-be despots to spot one from a mile away. Her impression was that he wanted to do right by their town, that he was honor-bound. With that, however, she knew that this was only part of the picture she was getting. His detachment from those around him unnerved her.

So as she stood outside Major Beck's office and one of his men opened the door to admit her, she did not enter his office lightly. She'd tried for days to wrap her mind around what she would need to say to him, how she would convince him that he must not hold Jericho responsible for the conflict with New Bern. She resigned herself to the fact that she may have to tell him everything that happened in New Bern, share details that were painfully etched in her mind but that she'd struggled to give voice to.

Major Beck rose from his seat behind his desk, walked around the desk, and nodded his head, acknowledging her. "I am pleased you could make it to conclude our interview." His business-like tone indicated no great pleasure in her company.

From the moment their previous meeting had ended, Heather knew this moment was inevitable. He'd as much said so in their parting. His reminder at the ranch that morning only solidified the notion. "Did I have a choice?"

He seemed genuinely flummoxed by her question, as evidenced by the manner in which his eyebrows rose. Then his mask slid back into place. "Ms. Lisinski, we all have choices." He indicated a wooden chair. She took his cue and sat. "May I offer you coffee? It's not very good, but it is wet."

She shook her head, in her current state not trusting herself to hold the cup without spilling it on herself. Her mind lingered on his visit to the Green Ranch that morning, his private conversation with Jake, and his siccing his men on her. "I can't figure you out." She wanted to. _Desperately._ It wasn't the man, in particular, that had her curious. It was what he represented. He held her future in his hands, and he did not entirely realize it. And what would become of Jericho, of Jake and Eric, if Constantino was released unimpeded to return to his former role in New Bern?

Beck leaned against the edge of his desk and met her eyes. "I am a simple man doing my job. What is there to figure out?" Beck watched as Heather's thoughts darted across her expressive face. Disbelief. Distrust. He wanted to put her to ease. He wanted her to trust him. The realization was startling to him, though he betrayed none of his thoughts to her.

Heather clasped her small hands together. She looked down, spotting the smallest hint of grime from Charlotte under her thumb nail. The strength of her voice belied the edginess she felt as she lifted her head and looked him in the eyes. "You know that I am a skilled mechanic. Yet you sent your men to 'assist' me while you spoke with Jake. Why is that?"

Heather expected a perfunctory response or perhaps a disingenuous one suggesting that he'd forgotten her mechanical skills, but Beck surprised her with his blatant honesty. "I wanted to speak with Jake privately, but I also wanted to have my men nearby as a precaution."

Heather's brows furrowed. Jake had made no secret of the fact that he disliked Major Beck, but she knew enough of Jake to know that he wouldn't risk the town's safety over a personality conflict. "Jake isn't your enemy."

"Try telling that to him." Beck crossed his arms. "I was under the impression that you were here for a debriefing, not the other way around."

"Rule #14: Understand the person with whom you speak."

Those dark brows were lifted again, though this time, Heather had the feeling that his expression was for her benefit rather than an involuntary response. "You're trying to understand me?" It had been a long time since Beck had interacted with anyone other than subordinates or superiors. And then, that interaction wasn't based on understanding but was, rather, based on orders given or orders followed. One needed not to understand why to do something in order to do it. "Are you sure it's not a stalling tactic?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"But you think you have no choice in the manner."

"I _am_ procrastinating," she admitted.

"Why is that?"

"Because when I say aloud what happened in New Bern, that's going to make it very real. It's also going to force you to make a decision that will affect people I care about. And," she added, "I'm scared what you're going to decide."

"Do you think I'll be unjust, Ms. Lisinski?"

"No," she replied without hesitation. "I know that someone will receive justice."

"With your permission…" he began, walking around the desk, taking the all-too-familiar tape recorder from a drawer and placing it on the work surface of his desk. She nodded her assent. "When last we spoke, you told me how you came to be in New Bern again, the maps of Jericho you found in the factory, the mortar shell production."

"And how Eric and I planned to blow it up."

"And you were discovered."

"Yes."

"You weren't killed outright. That surprises me. If Phil Constantino is a monster, as he's been described, why would he choose to keep you alive?"

Beck had his suspicions. History was filled with examples of political prisoners and prisoners of war being used to further an agenda. In some instances, that agenda involved extracting state secrets that the captor believed the prisoner held, like in the case of Captain Joe Paget, whose plane was shot down over Manchuria in WWII during his one hundredth and final mission. Imprisoned by the Japanese for eighteen months, Captain Paget had endured confinement in a four foot by four foot cell, torture, and food and sleep deprivation, all in an attempt to force him to share strategic Allied plans with the Axis's militant leaders. Paget never divulged information and was liberated by the British shortly before the end of the war, returning to his family who'd been informed that he was likely dead. Beck admired his fortitude and hoped that he, if faced with a similar situation, would display the strength and courage displayed by this man.

In other cases, the agenda involved cementing power in the eyes of the people, imprisonment for the purpose of propaganda. In 2004 eight British sailors inspecting merchant shipping lanes in international waters discovered this the hard way, when Iranian naval forces seized them at gunpoint. The sailors were freed after nearly two weeks of captivity—and multiple, forced P.R. photo ops with Iran's president, Mohammed Khatami. Of course, Iran no longer existed as such, wiped out along with North Korea, the result of reciprocity. What goes around, comes around.

Beck forced the thought from his mind. If he allowed himself to dwell on what Iran and North Korea had cost him, he would not be able to perform his duties. Duty was all he had left.

Heather rubbed her wrists, an involuntary reaction, as she remembered the feeling of the cold metal against her skin. They were led onto a platform, newly erected, complete with gallows. At the time, she'd thought death by hanging would be her fate. After all, she and Eric had been caught sabotaging the factory. "Constantino used Eric and me to whip the crowd of starving, desperate people in New Bern into a frenzy. Rumors were circulating about Jericho, no doubt planted by Constantino's people."

_The wind was strong that night. Many of the townspeople carried torches that reminded Heather of a low budget medieval horror film, though she knew there would be no director to yell cut. The flames from the torches flared up in the wind, burning almost sideways. Neither she nor Eric had a coat that night, and while they had tried to stand as near to one another as possible—and Eric tried to block the wind from Heather—they were both shaking from the cold as much as from fear. _

_As she looked out at the throng of people that night, she recognized many of the faces. Mrs. Hanson, who'd been her father's church secretary; Mr. Gentry, her high school soccer coach; Mr. Libbey, her biology teacher; Timmy Fitzwilliams, whom she'd babysat when he was a child; and so many others. They called out to Constantino. They demanded justice for their suffering. _

_He offered them an answer._

Heather's voice hardened and her jaw tightened. "According to _him_, Jericho had hoarded goods. Jericho sent Ravenwood to ravage the city." A flash of recognition shone in Beck's eyes, but Heather did not see it, lost in her own recollection of those events. "Constantino told them that Jericho was preventing shipments of food and other goods from reaching New Bern, to keep New Bern desperate, to make New Bern rely upon Jericho for its food supply, its survival. Never mind that people were starving in Jericho or freezing to death. Constantino was smart. He knew that the people needed something to believe in, and Constantino gave it to them. He gave Eric and me to them." She laughed humorlessly, jarring the otherwise silent office. "We were spies, according to him. The Jericho mayor's son and the hometown girl turned turncoat. We were trying to keep New Bern from producing turbines because if they did, they'd be in a bargaining position. All of which was utterly ridiculous. If Jericho and New Bern had been able to work together, the way we intended when we ran into Russell and Ted at Black Jack Trading Post, our alliance would have been a win-win situation."

Beck understood where Heather was going. What she said corroborated what Eric Green had told him. "So he called into question Jericho's motives."

"And convinced the citizens of New Bern that a pre-emptive strike on Jericho was the only way to handle the threat Jericho posed. Never mind that they'd been divvying up Jericho's resources behind closed doors. Never mind that they'd been planning an attack since even before we got the factory up and running again." Heather shook her head. "I helped them get on their feet. I helped them solve problems in that factory that they'd not figured out. People died because of it."

"You had no way of knowing."

"I was too naïve." Her thoughts dashed to Emily. "I'm still too naïve."

"Yet Constantino kept you alive."

_Many in the crowd called for Eric's and Heather's immediate hangings, while others cried out asking what type of people they'd become as a town. In the end, Constantino, in a show of his 'mercy,' announced that they would receive a fair trial, if a kangaroo court could be deemed fair. _

Heather laughed uneasily. "Oh, there came a time when I'd outlived my usefulness. After Eric and I were demonized, we were imprisoned. Constantino and his 'deputies' would come get Eric or me from our cells for our 'conversations.' Every time we'd go for the 'conversations,' we'd have to pass through a corridor with a number of makeshift cells. What happened in there—let's just say that dying isn't the worst thing that can happen to a person."

"I understand. When we went in to New Bern, we found what looked to be the remnants of slave trade."

Heather had to bite her tongue. She wanted to ask whether slavery was permissible under the new A.S. Constitution. Then again, there was no new Constitution. It just so happened that the A.S. government wasn't particularly good about upholding the old Constitution either. Instead, she tempered her thoughts with more a more diplomatic approach. "Why is Constantino still in New Bern, still able to stoke people's anger?"

"He's under house arrest. Project Home Sequester."

"Please. Gangsters used to order hits from prison. House arrest doesn't mean anything. Shouldn't there be enough on the issue of slavery alone to make Constantino accountable?"

"I don't mind telling you that we're investigating the scope of his crimes, part of why you're here, isn't it? Thus far, two of his subordinates have claimed that it was not Phil Constantino's operation. That a Deputy Travers ran that operation unbeknownst to Sheriff Constantino."

"And if your men had, say, a prostitution or gambling ring going on, who would be accountable?"

"I would," Beck replied. "The story does not ring true, but with no credible evidence to contradict their claims…"

"They say Bart Travers was the mastermind?"

"Yes."

"The man didn't sneeze without Constantino's permission."

"Tell me about him."

_Bart Travers. Forty-four. Despite the dire times, the man never lost his gut. It hung over his belted uniform pants, all the more apparent as those around him grew thinner with hunger. Heather remembered the perpetual smell of sweat that emanated from him._

"I vaguely remember him from before. Before the bombs, I mean."

Beck knew what she meant. It was common enough. Life before the bombs, life after the bombs.

"His son was a year behind me in school, his daughter a few years younger. I'm not sure how many. I didn't really hang out with either one. His wife left the family sometime when I was in elementary school. I don't remember when exactly, but I do remember him coming to the parsonage, yelling at my dad to back off. He didn't believe in heaven, hell, or eternity. Only the here and now, he'd said. He also said he'd take care of his kids himself.

"And he did," Heather continued. "Everyone knew he was in the back pocket of Phil Constantino, who rewarded him handsomely. Nothing major before the bombs, but there were kickbacks. New Bern was known as a speed trap along Route 70." Heather remembered when New Bern made the national news a few years back when a traveler passing through got a speeding ticket, paid the fine by check, along with a memo on the check: speed trap. Sheriff Constantino refused the check out of principle, setting off a controversy until a bigger story came along. "Deputies were permitted to skim off the top—or so the rumor went—when an ethics committee investigated Constantino." A look of intense concentration fell upon her face. "What year was that?" She paused trying to piece together a timeline accurately.

"1998," Beck supplied. "I've done my homework. At least, what the official record can tell us."

"Fast forward eight years, twenty-three nukes, and one dictatorship later. Travers was Constantino's yes man as always. Constantino would interrogate Eric and me. Often separately but occasionally together, mostly if they were trying to break our silence. One night, Eric and I were both taken out and brought into a cold room. Sheriff Constantino wanted to know strategic information. How many men manned the town outposts? What was their armament? Which homes and farms still had fuel or food supplies? Were there booby traps? We knew we couldn't answer. Not truthfully, at least. Constantino ordered Travers to pound Eric each time he refused to answer a question. And then he'd turn to me, tell me that I could end Eric's suffering and mine if I'd talk. Even if I was willing to talk, what did I know? I'm a third grade teacher for crying out loud! I did what I could to help around here after the bombs, but I wasn't privy to the detailed information that Eric had. Each time they'd ask, he'd say the same thing: 'Go to hell.'

"I won't pretend that watching Eric being beaten was as painful as receiving the blows myself. How he—how he kept going, I'll never know. But Travers would come, do Constantino's bidding."

"But you were not struck?"

"Not at first. Constantino wanted my body to remain unblemished by bruises or cuts. He said I would fetch a nice price in the slave market. Women who," Heather searched for the right words, "looked healthy, attractive, and strong were far more valuable. The only mark upon me for quite some time was the brand Constantino used to show that I belonged to New Bern. I belonged to him."

Beck grimaced. "You were branded?"

"Like cattle, yes." Without realizing it, Heather's hand went to her upper thigh, running her fingers over the mark. She could not feel the brand through her jeans, but in her mind's eye, she could see the scar, remember the smell of burnt flesh, and the pain that seared through her.

Beck pursed his lips, maintaining eye contact with the young woman who sat across from him, though his first instinct was to look away, to gather his slipping composure. Instead, he plunged forward with the interview, determined to disconnect himself from the queasiness that formed in the pit of his stomach. "So you're saying that Bart Travers had nothing to do with the slave trade."

"No, that's not what I'm saying. Bart Travers had plenty to do with it, Major Beck. He carried out Constantino's orders."

"But Constantino was the leader. Everything went through him." Major Beck leaned forward, elbows on his desk, hands clasped. "In my investigation, I've been told that Travers left the day of the skirmish, trying to cover his tracks beforehand."

Heather shook her head. "Someone was lying to you, Major."

"From what I understand, you were long gone by then, Ms. Lisinski. How do you know it didn't happen as I've been told?"

"Because," Heather said taking a deep breath. "I killed Bart Travers more than a week before the battle between New Bern and Jericho."

* * *

to be continued in Chapter 13, Part B...


	19. Chapter 13, Part B

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**Author's Note:** A special thanks goes out to my beta, Skyrose.

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Warning:** Strong language in the latter part of the chapter

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**Chapter 13, Part B**

Telling his mother that he'd been named sheriff wasn't without its amusement, Jake thought several hours later as he walked through town hall. She'd been quick to remind him that spending time in the office should be much more comfortable than in the holding cell, where he'd already spent some time as a teenager. At the time, getting arrested for disorderly conduct had been an immense embarrassment to his parents. Now it made for a humorous anecdote for his mother to tell at the most inopportune times, like when Heather was around. To her credit, Heather didn't look ruffled or disappointed. Instead she commented that everyone had things from their past they wished they could change, and mumbled something about a really bad perm.

'Screw this town, 92' indeed. He had heard more than one long-time town hall employee comment on his in-cell carving.

Jake had fastened his badge to the belt on his jeans but had refused the standard uniform worn by Jimmy and Bill. Already he'd responded to a complaint about a bull on the loose in The Pines, which took him precipitously close to Emily's house when he and Jimmy had to tranquilize the animal. Another person had reported spotting Jonah Prowse near the churchyard, which to Jake, seemed unlikely. Jonah had kept himself distanced from Jericho for the last month, ever since cutting and running with the supplies they needed to try to ward off New Bern. Jake knew that the time would come when he'd have to deal with Jonah, but he hoped it came later rather than sooner. But in a churchyard? Not exactly Jonah's style.

When he got back to town hall, it was just in time to see Heather emerging from Major Beck's office, a grim look on her face, a look that she tried to cover when she spotted him. He immediately made his way to her side.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked.

"Fine, Jake." But her voice sounded listless and her eyes lacked their usual luster. "I think Major Beck will be ready to move on Constantino now."

Jake's eyes widened. "What did you say to him?"

"What I had to," she replied ambiguously. "Listen, I need to go get my head screwed on straight and…"

He reached down and took her hand, which was cold to the touch. He rubbed it between his larger ones. "Will you tell me about it later?" He searched her eyes, beseeching her to open up to him.

A part of Heather wanted to tell him everything. But was it right to burden him with that? Didn't Jake already have enough worries? Didn't he carry the weight of his life and the lives of so many others? To add to that just felt wrong. "I—"

"Dorothy, do you have a moment?" Lieutenant Hamilton had come upon them so quickly, and Jake had been so focused on Heather, he'd not seen the officer approach. Catching the grimace on Jake's face, Hamilton added, "Sorry to intrude, but this is important."

Heather looked from Jake to Hamilton. "Um, yeah. Yeah." When she returned her gaze to Jake, she could see the exasperation on his face and silently apologized before voicing, "I'll see you later, Jake."

Jake looked like he wanted to say something else, but he was being summoned to Major Beck's office.

As Heather and Hamilton strode down the hall, Hamilton couldn't help but notice how Heather was not her usual self with a ready smile. When he finished telling her what he learned in New Bern, he knew she'd be even less apt to smile.

"Did you see Ted?"

"I did. Actually, he sent a few things for you." He pointed to a door labeled 'storage closet.' "They're in here."

"I'm not going in a dark closet with you."

"Why? Don't trust yourself?" he shot back with ease and charm.

She shook her head. This was going to be difficult, and she'd had enough difficulty for one day, so she deflected. She would handle this tomorrow. "So how did Ted seem?"

Hamilton looked disappointed that she wasn't willing to engage in some mild flirtation with him, but nevertheless, snapped back to business. "Nervous," Hamilton replied.

"He's always been a little jumpy," Heather confessed.

Hamilton turned the knob of the storage room, reached down, and retrieved the bag that Ted had given him. "Things in New Bern aren't like things here. There's a curfew in place, for instance."

"For all the good that's doing," Heather replied with a sigh, thinking on the trickle of people from her hometown to Jericho looking for trouble and revenge wrapped in a shiny package. "I want you to tell me everything that went on with Ted. Don't leave anything out."

"Bossy," Hamilton teased passing her the bag, which surprisingly, held little interest to her, he noted.

"I'm serious, Hamilton. Ted is my oldest friend, and I need to know that he's okay!"

"What's goin' on? You don't seem yourself." Briefly, Emily's warning to him crossed his mind, but he brushed it aside.

"I just need to know. _Please_."

Hamilton laid before Heather everything that happened, from Ted's anxiety at the Army lieutenant showing up at the door to his trailer, to Ted's disbelief and joy that Heather was alive, to the way that Ted devoured Heather's letter, to his visit after curfew to the encampment. "He put himself at risk to break curfew, Heather."

"Why would he do that?" The Ted Lewis she knew was not what she would consider a stickler for rules, but he had a healthy sense of fear that balanced any rebellious streak he possessed.

"He came," Hamilton began, holding her gaze with his own, "because he thinks your life is in danger."

Heather's heart began to pound; so much so, she could hear the blood swooshing in her ears. Her hands felt incredibly clammy.

Hamilton, seeing Heather's reaction, tried to make his words as gentle as possible while not sugarcoating the direness of her situation. "Word's gotten out that you're alive. That man from New Bern who came here yesterday—Jack Yeargan—spread the word. Ted thinks Phil Constantino will be comin' for you."

And just as quickly as dread and fear had washed over Heather, an immense feeling of relief came upon her. "It's going to be okay," she said with certainty. "The snake's head has been cut off."

"What do you mean?" Hamilton asked.

"Major Beck told me that Constantino is being remanded into the custody of the Cheyenne government. He will be standing trial for his role in the war between New Bern and Jericho—and for the other acts he committed."

"That's great news!" Hamilton beamed. "I needed it."

"Something wrong?"

"A buddy of mine's gone missin'."

Heather's eyes widened. _"What?"_

A hint of bitterness permeated Hamilton's normally amiable tone. "My c.o. thinks he's AWOL like so many others."

"But you don't."

"Nah. Barrett Buchs, he's a lot of things and he's done a lot of things, but a deserter? No."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Good question. Any suggestions that won't result in my gettin' court-martialed?"

"I'm the wrong person to ask. Military protocol is not something I entirely understand. The basics, maybe, but not the nitty gritty. Especially the A.S. military."

"Heather, we're just like we always were. Situation's different, but same military with the same goals we always had. Keepin' this country safe."

Heather pursed her lips. "Which country, Hamilton?" She clutched the bag she carried more tightly in her hand. "Thank you for contacting Ted for me. I appreciate it more than I can say. I hope you find your friend."

* * *

Beck's dark brows rose when he saw Jake Green enter his office. "Still no uniform?"

"I'm pacing myself," Jake replied pulling his jacket open to reveal his sheriff's badge secured to his belt.

Beck contemplated asking the other man how his first day as sheriff had been, but opted against it. Jake Green was not a man who would or could be won over by small talk. Regardless, what he had to tell Jake would do far more to soothe ruffled feathers than anything else. "I thought you'd like to know that Phil Constantino is being remanded into the custody of the federal court system."

Jake's gaze remained steely, though his mouth suddenly felt dry. His thoughts turned to the day of his father's death, how Beck forced him to sit across from the man who killed his father, how he arbitrarily declared the conflict between Jericho and New Bern to be over. It hadn't been over—not by a long shot—but now Beck was telling him that the man responsible for his father's death would finally be facing the consequences of his actions. Jake knew he should have felt elated, but the numbness that he felt instead gnawed at him. "Federal court system? What does that mean anymore?"

"It means he's going to Cheyenne. He'll stand trial there for his crimes. Contrary to what some people believe, we do still have standards in our country and there is such a thing as right and wrong."

"When?"

"His security detail is readying him for transport as we speak."

Jake looked through the newly installed bullet-proof office windows toward Heather, who stood conversing with Lt. Hamilton. Her lips were tightened, her posture tense. Whatever had happened in Heather's conversation with Beck had quite obviously affected her. "What did Heather say to you?" He looked back to Beck, searching for clues on the man's face.

Like always, Beck's mask held. "Ms. Lisinski corroborated your brother's account of what happened in New Bern and provided additional information that I found useful. I'm not at liberty to say more than that."

Jake rubbed his chin and returned his gaze to the place where he had seen Heather just a moment before, wanting to gage her temperament, but now she was gone. Lt. Hamilton was still there, looking dejected, Jake thought.

"What are the charges?"

"Unlawful imprisonment, murder, slave trafficking, to name a few. He's not going to see the light of day again, Jake. Punishment will be severe and swift."

The first two charges did not surprise Jake, but the latter did. There was still so much about New Bern that Eric had not told him. And Heather, she would barely speak of it. Jake was starting to gather a fuller picture as to why. "But he'll get a trial?"

"Yes."

Jake cleared his throat. That was more consideration than his father had received. Relief mingled with regret. Relief that Constantino would be dealt with, regret that he would not be delivering the justice himself.

With a quick nod of his head, Jake left Beck's office, eager to find Eric, who was likely in or near the mayor's office, and share the news.

* * *

Jake paced in his office several hours later; being sheriff was not quite like he had expected. He had already completed the necessary paperwork on the rampaging bull. He had taken the opportunity to familiarize himself with the personnel records of the newer sheriff's deputies, two men who came with Roger Hammond to Jericho. He had met with Jimmy, Bill, Hank Doogan, and Ned Daley. Doogan and Daley were reserved but polite when Jake was introduced as the new sheriff; Bill Kohler snorted, at first believing the announcement of Jake's new position to be a practical joke. Jake likely would have had the same reaction six months ago.

But how things had changed. Not that he had any doubts about that fact, but if he had had them, they were all but erased as he left to confer with the mayor.

As Jake met with Gray in his father's old office after finding Eric and telling him the news of Constantino, Jake was taken aback by just how unfamiliar it looked with Gray's touch on the furniture and décor so different from Jake's vivid memories of time spent there as a child.

During his budget meeting with Gray, Jake discovered that the budget was essentially frozen until the new Cheyenne currency became more widespread. Truth be told, Jake had not thought about money one way or another in months. Other things—like food, salt, fuel, and cigarettes—had become far more valuable. It was a reminder of the precarious nature of the legal tender—that it had value only so long as one placed value on it. For instance, the trust fund left to him by his grandfather and overseen by his father was virtually worthless until or unless an exchange rate was developed and accepted by the Allied States. To hear Gray talk, though, they were on their way to getting back to normal thanks to Cheyenne.

The notion of the Allied States assuming federal authorities—such as minting currency—unnerved Jake, but he had to play the role of sheriff, and the town's top law enforcement officer was not typically the one to incite rebellion.

Gray had a small television set muted, though still powered on. When a new story began running, Gray reached for the remote control he kept on his desk, tried to work it, and then remembered that they had commandeered the batteries for some other task. He had to walk to the television to turn up its volume.

"…_as President Tomarchio continues his whistle-stop tour across the western states. Throngs of crowds turned out in Boise, Idaho."_

The image on the TV shifted from the pert blonde newscaster to an arena setting. The camera panned the crowd of thousands before zooming in on former senator, John Tomarchio, now President of the Allied States, waving at the cheering mass. In the backdrop of the screen, an A.S. flag was prominently featured, its vertical stripes still making Jake want to cringe. Footage jumped ahead to the closing remarks of Tomarchio's speech, interspersing the looks of awe on the faces of the listeners with the young President. _"I believe in the fortitude of the American people to overcome any obstacle, climb any mountain that obstructs our progress. We have been dealt a blow, unlike any ever witnessed in the history of man. Yet here we are, standing tall, standing firm. _

"_Many years ago, when the world was more innocent, Welsh poet Dylan Thomas watched his father dying. That's something that I daresay too many of us have had to face in recent months." _Tomarchio's expression took a solemn turn._ "He famously implored, 'Do not go gentle into that good night/ Rage, rage against the dying of the light'. Just as he implored, I beseech you now. Keep raging against the dying of the light! We cannot fight for what has already passed, but we can shape tomorrow. We can shine the light on these dark times! And we will. America lives on!" _The sound of the crowd grew deafening as Tomarchio spoke over the audience._ "God bless you all, and God bless the Allied States of America!"_

The image returned to that of the newscaster._ "President Tomarchio will next be heading to Pendleton, Oregon, before making his way to Sacramento. Sacramento was briefly, as you might recall, a federal capital. Organizers of the events expect record crowds of supporters for the extremely popular young President being touted as the savior of our nation. _

"_In other news, the deadly Hudson River virus continues to be…" _

"Kool Aid drinkers," Jake muttered to himself as Gray turned off the TV, silencing the reporter.

"We've all got to believe in something, Jake. You know where I stand." Gray cleared his throat remembering their argument from the day before. "I'm willing to go with it so long as things keep getting better. Speaking of drinking the Kool Aid, I hear that you and Emily are getting hitched."

Jake's eyes narrowed. "Where in the hell did you hear that?"

"So I take it congratulations aren't in order?"

The last thing Jake intended to do was discuss his love life with Gray Anderson. "Anything else we need to cover?"

"We've covered budget and hierarchy. That should just about do it."

Jake nodded and began heading for the door of the office.

"Oh, there is one other thing: the matter of the uniform or lack thereof."

Jake stopped on his tracks before turning to face the other man, who looked more smug than usual.

"There is a dress code for sheriff's department employees. Extends to the hair, as well." Jake frowned as Gray retrieved a file folder from his desk and pulled a piece of paper from it. "Before you get irate with me, you should know this is a carryover from the previous mayor's administration. Look it over, and let's get in compliance. After all, you set the example for your deputies."

A string of colorful profanities and comments about baldness, all directed toward Gray, came to Jake, but his mind filtered his mouth. Instead he snatched the paper from Gray's hand and stuffed it in his back pocket without even glancing at its contents.

Dealing with Gray Anderson on a daily basis was the least of Jake's concerns as he left the man's office. He had brought up a topic that Jake had been avoiding tackling: namely, Emily Sullivan.

* * *

As Heather replaced the panel on the hot water heater in the basement of the Green home, she mentally crossed her fingers and hoped that the repair work she had done would take care of the problem. Now she would need to let water fill the tank and, hopefully, begin to warm.

Truth be told, she felt just as drained as the water heater. Reliving what had happened in New Bern had not been easy, and she would likely be called to Cheyenne to testify at Constantino's trial. That thought alone was enough to make her squeamish.

She briefly flirted with the idea of lying on the couch and hibernating for the next few minutes, but there was too much that needed to be done. She thought to what she and Gail had talked about a few days earlier—about having an honest to goodness vegetable garden in the back yard, but there were preparations that needed to be made.

Heading upstairs and into the garage, Heather spotted a hoe and shovel hanging on the wall. Grabbing them, she headed to the backyard. Once she got started digging off the layer of overgrown sod in the area Gail had marked with twine, she was certain she would be a muddy mess, but for some reason, it seemed oddly appropriate to her.

As she worked, her mind was racing. She thought of the last few days, of Jake and how perhaps she still had a chance with him, of her friendship with Emily and how complicated it had become, of the warmth she felt toward Gail, of wanting to see some friends she had not seen since her return, of Hamilton and how abrupt she had been with him. Heather thought of Major Beck, his enigmatic demeanor, of being relieved that she had convinced him of the truth and that he was willing to listen. Heather dwelled on Bart Travers, his blood on her conscience, and wondered about his family and if they were still suffering from her actions.

Time passed, and before she knew it, she was done with about half of the area when her aching hands—she knew she should've searched for work gloves—and the waning daylight clued her in that it was time to quit this particular task for the day.

"I know you don't wanna see me right now, but…"

Heather turned upon hearing the familiar twang, tinged by an unfamiliar tone. Lieutenant Jacob Hamilton's expression looked so stricken, she immediately dropped her flat-nosed shovel and jogged to where he stood at the edge of the Green yard, asking as she made her way to him, "What is it? What happened?" Her thoughts turned to Jake, fear seizing her. Had Hamilton come to tell her that something had happened to him? No. If he had, he would have appeared regretful, sure, but not like this. Whatever it was, it was personal. His family? But how would he have received word?

"This afternoon, some men on foot patrol found my friend."

"That should be good news, right?" Her voice sounded hopeful.

"He's dead." Hamilton's jaw clenched, and Heather could see no trace of the easy-going man she'd come to know and appreciate. His hazel eyes were hardened as he uttered, "Some sick bastards set him on fire. Dog tags ID'd him."

Heather gasped. "Hamilton, I am so sorry!" Beyond that, words escaped her as she reached out to the man before her and embraced him. His arms encircled her as he held her close. Heather could feel the sadness emanating from him, though he neither wept nor moaned. She could feel it in his posture as they held each other, the rigidity of his body in the way his shoulders were squared and the straightness of his back. Pulling away, she sought his eyes, seeing the turmoil there replacing his normal calm.

"Thanks, Dorothy. I know you mean that." Absently, he pushed aside a strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead and stuck to it. "Good part of the time, Buchs was a jackass, but he was my friend and he had my back. Just wish I woulda had his."

Heather wiped the dirt from her hands on her jeans before taking his hands and squeezing them reassuringly. "We can't always stop bad things from happening. You're a good man, Jacob Hamilton, and any man that you considered a friend must have been worthwhile. I'll say a prayer for him and for you, too."

"You're a believer?" he asked, his voice softening.

"Yeah, I am."

"That makes me feel better." The earnest tone in which he spoke drew Heather in, and as he inched closer, she didn't retreat. "Bein' with you makes me feel better," he murmured. And then his lips were on hers, light, caressing, but fleeting. Perhaps she should have seen it coming, but she was still surprised.

If someone had asked her five minutes earlier, Heather would have told him that Hamilton was not the man she wanted to kiss. Even now, her mind raced with recrimination. _What are you doing?!?!_Yet she did not have the chance to pull away, for Hamilton kept the kiss short and decidedly sweet.

When Hamilton pulled back, Heather could see the rigid look on his features had diminished, replaced by the more familiar agreeable expression he typically wore. He sighed slightly before saying, "Feel like lately all I've been doin' is sayin' goodbye to you."

"Goodbye?" Heather repeated.

Hamilton's expression hardened again as he explained, "C.O.'s ordered a few of us back to New Bern. I'll be gone a few days. Maybe less. Didn't want to leave without sayin' somethin'."

Heather swallowed hard. "New Bern?"

Hamilton nodded somberly. "Barrett was found on the outskirts."

Heather's brows furrowed, an uneasy feeling overtaking her. "I thought with the curfew and the monitoring and the…why? _How_?"

"That's what we're gonna find out, Dorothy. We do know that there's a resistance group. We'll definitely be lookin' to see if they had anything to do with his murder."

Heather's mind was spinning. A resistance group? What were they resisting? Had _that_ much changed in the last month? And why would a resistance group single out a military officer who wasn't high-ranking? As usual, she felt like she had more questions than answers.

As Heather opened her mouth to begin her barrage of questions, Hamilton glanced at his watch, unaware of her state of bafflement—over the kiss and over the information he had offhandedly divulged. "We're headin' out in under an hour. I can't stay."

"You'll let me know what you find out, though. Right?"

"Anything I'm allowed to tell you, I will. Stay out of trouble, Dorothy." And with that, Lt. Jacob Hamilton was on his way.

Heather watched him walk away as the sun disappeared over the horizon. She treaded to where she had left the yard tools, grabbed them, and headed toward the service entrance of the garage, slipping off her shoes before entering.

* * *

It was within a few minutes that Heather found herself testing the functionality of the hot water heater as she settled into a balmy shower, washing away the sweat and grime from her afternoon of work. She had yet to go through the bag of clothes Ted sent her through Hamilton. Everything, with perhaps the exception of the clothes she wore to the Black Jack Fairgrounds, had been acquired while in New Bern. Logically, she knew they were just clothes, just _things_; nevertheless, she had some trepidation about using them.

If only it was as easy to wash away the memories of New Bern as it was to wash away the toil from a hard day's work.

Jake was going to want answers. She'd been putting him off for days, and he had been patient, which she was quite certain was not his modus operandi. Perhaps it was time. But then there was that part of her that could not bear to see disappointment or worse, pity, fill his features once he heard everything. It was bad enough that Eric thought she was fragile, bad enough for Major Beck, a man she barely knew, to know the extent of what happened in New Bern. But for Jake? For everyone else?

New Bern.

It had once been home. Now she could not escape it, no matter how hard she tried.

What did Hamilton mean by the resistance in New Bern? What was happening there? With Constantino gone, would it change? Or would they finally be able to put the past behind them and move forward?

And then there was Hamilton himself. Heather's heart went out to him; it was clear the loss of his friend had truly shaken him to his core. When he had kissed her, it was nice—sweet, gentle, much like the man himself. He had reached out to her for human comfort, yet Heather was racked with guilt. She suspected that the kiss meant far more to him than it ever could for her, considering that the more time she spent with Jake, the more connected she felt to him, the more she longed to be with him.

Maybe she should have told Hamilton that, but the timing of it would have been awful. What could she say, "Sorry your best friend just died. By the way, I only like you as a friend"? It was like her father used to always tell her: you don't kick a man when he's down. Rule # 18.

After shutting off the water and squeezing the excess moisture from her hair, Heather wrapped herself in a towel and opened the door to dart across the hall into her bedroom. As she did, she saw Jake coming up the stairs.

Heather stuck her head out the bedroom door, noticing that his expression looked weary. She wondered if his first day as sheriff had been trying. "Hey! I want to show you something!"

His face transformed as an impish grin spread across his features. "Show me something?"

"Ha ha. Very funny!" Heather scolded lightly before closing the door to her bedroom and quickly pulling on some of the clothes Gail had secured for her before returning to the hallway. "Do you just wait for me to come out of the shower, Jake Green?"

"Been blessed with good timing is all," he replied crossing his arms. He paused for a moment, her words sinking in. "Shower? As in…?"

"Yep. I got the hot water heater working." She took his hand, pulled him into the bathroom, and pointed at the cloudy mirrors. "Look! Bona fide steam!"

"You did it!"

"Mmm. Call it a small victory in the quest for creature comforts."

"Mom'll be thrilled."

Heather leaned against the counter, looking up at Jake. "So how was your first day, Sheriff Green? Everything that you'd hoped it would be?"

"And more," Jake replied wryly. "Got up close and personal with a bull. Found of that Jimmy Taylor is a fairly spry runner when the occasion calls for it." That brought a smile to her face. "Talked budgets with Gray and was reminded of why I never wanted to work in an office." He paused, looking at her significantly. "And I met with Beck. He said you corroborated Eric's story of what happened in New Bern and gave him more reasons to put Constantino on trial."

Heather shifted nervously.

He reached out and touched her arm. "Look, I'm not gonna pressure you to tell me about it if you aren't ready. When you're ready to talk, I'm ready to listen. I just want to say thank you. Whatever happened in there with Beck, I know it wasn't easy for you."

"We will talk about it sometime, Jake. I promise. Just not now. Please know that I am okay. About what happened in New Bern, I—I wasn't raped, and I wasn't treated as roughly as Eric was."

Jake was still trying to process the information Heather gave him. Relief washed over him that she had not been violated and that she had not been beaten to the extent that Eric was. Nevertheless, he could not entirely brush aside the haunted expressions that sometimes crossed her features when she didn't realize she was being observed or the strange comments she and Eric had made to each other. "I'm glad. The thought of—the thought of them hurting you—I never shoulda left you there."

"This again?" she tried to keep her tone light. "I am fine. Really, Jake. _Really_." She took a deep breath. "I'm really glad that Constantino is going to see justice. I know it must've been hard on you and Eric both not to charge into New Bern and just take him out."

"The thought occurred to us," he admitted.

"What stopped you?"

"Beck. The Army. We knew the town would suffer for it if we did. Tighter restrictions would be imposed. More shoot first, ask questions later."

"Do you know what's happening in New Bern?"

"Just rumors. Still in shoot first-ask questions later mode where New Bern's concerned."

Heather nodded her understanding. "Hamilton told me a few minutes ago that there's a resistance movement in New Bern."

Jake scowled, not entirely sure which part of the information had him reeling more—the fact that Hamilton was still in the picture or the fact that things were getting dicey in New Bern. "What did he say?" Jake's words were clipped.

Heather's expression softened as she remembered the news Hamilton delivered. "A buddy of his was found murdered on the outskirts of New Bern." She cleared her throat, trying to be precise and clinical, but found it difficult to speak of the event dispassionately. "Hamilton and some others have been ordered there to investigate. He mentioned the possibility of the New Bern Resistance being involved."

"What the hell's goin' on over there?" Jake muttered. "This friend of Hamilton's, why would he be important to a Resistance?"

Heather shook her head. "I don't know. As far as I know, he was a lieutenant, just like Hamilton. "

That flew in the face of everything Jake knew about Resistance groups—and he'd had plenty of personal experience with insurgents in his time overseas. Typically attacks were surprise—yes—and brutal. Yet with limited resources and manpower, strikes had to be of strategic value. In thinking of New Bern, it made no sense for the Resistance to target a man who had no strategic importance. The folks in New Bern were nothing if not thorough—also something he knew from personal experience.

A myriad of possibilities entered his mind. Maybe the killing was random; maybe it wasn't. Either way, was the murder being used as an excuse to filter out those who resented and opposed the Army's presence in New Bern? Jake sure as hell could rattle off a number of people in Jericho who would love to see the Army leave—and his name would be at the top of that list. As much as a part of him wanted to see some of the folks in New Bern get whatever harsh treatment could be mustered their way, the reality was that what goes around, comes around. What was to prevent the Army from instituting searches in Jericho, arbitrarily deciding who was for them and who was against them? Punishing free speech? Imposing curfews and limitations on meetings?

Did Hawkins know what was happening in New Bern? Damned if Jake knew. He didn't even know how to get in touch with the man. That was something else they would have to work on—their communication. If Jake was expected to be his eyes and ears in town hall and with the military, they had to figure out a few things.

"So Hamilton told you about this at town hall? He didn't look upset." Jake didn't like Hamilton. There was something too smooth about him, too 'aww shucks.' In his experience, if a person seemed too good to be true, he usually was.

Heather shook her head. "No, he stopped by here a little while ago when I was in the back yard. He told me then."

"If Hamilton says anything else…"

"You know I'll tell you," Heather assured him.

Jake nodded slightly. "I'm gonna go start a fire. Think it might get cool tonight."

"I hope it'll be warm soon. It's about time for planting. Stanley will—" Heather paused, thinking of her friend whom she had still not seen since her return—"Actually, I guess he already is hard at work doing preparations."

"That's right. You've not seen him since you've been back. Hell, for that matter, none of us has seen him in a few days." Jake frowned, worry etching his features. He had a difficult time wanting to go back to the Richmond Ranch, particularly into the farmhouse, when every time he did, he could vividly feel the ghosts of the past there with him, could even see the body of his father lying on the kitchen table. "I should probably check on him."

Heather could see the change in Jake's expression, could tell that he felt the weight of the world on him, some which he shared with her and others, but other things weighed on him, too, things that he would not share. "Stanley's fine. I've not seen _him_, but I did run into Bonnie earlier today. Before I met with the major. She told me that Stanley proposed to Mimi. Guess you already knew about that." Heather paused for a moment, reflecting on the fact that there was so much she had missed, that she was in a constantly playing catch up. "Oh, and a Jennings and Rall rep has been out to the farm to talk about an arrangement for back taxes."

"So much for weeding it down to only one thing in life being certain after the attacks," Jake muttered morosely.

"You okay?" Heather asked, concern filling her features once again.

"Long day," Jake replied before starting to head down the stairs, "and it's only gonna get longer. After I get this fire going, I have something I need to take care of."

Heather called after him. "It can't wait until after supper? I think I saw some Ramen noodles in the cupboard…"

Jake stopped his descent. More than anything, he wanted to stay put for the evening, sit in front of the fire with Heather, and laugh until his sides ached, but he couldn't. Not while being in limbo with Emily. His mother was right. He couldn't spend time with Heather and be in a relationship with Emily. "I've got to see Emily. That can't wait any longer."

"Oh." Jake could see the disappointment cross her features before she covered. "Well, um, I think I may turn in early tonight, so if I don't see you before I head to bed, good night." Heather turned and headed into her room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Jake fought the urge to go back up the stairs and…and what? Kiss her? Tell her he was going to Emily's house to break up? He was afraid that if he went back, he would find reasons to stay home with her. There would be time for that—if she would allow it—but for now, he had a task ahead of him, one that had been a long time in coming.

* * *

When Jake found himself on Emily's doorstep thirty minutes later, he was not sure whether to feel angry or relieved when she finally opened the door. Gray's comment to him had refreshed in his mind Emily's duplicity—suggesting to Heather and evidently others that she and Jake were getting married. It was just so damn typical.

"We need to talk." Jake shoved his hands in the pocket of his jeans. He saw her eyeball the gun holster and sheriff's badge, but she made no comment about them. Rather, she seemed doggedly focused on the conversation to come, and from the looks of it, she was just as angry as he was.

"We sure do." Her tone was barely even as she stepped aside to allow Jake entrance into her house.

Jake glanced around the impeccably decorated living room as he walked inside. It bore little resemblance to the modest house on Fascination Street that he'd once shared with Emily. Then again, he supposed that the two of them bore little resemblance to the people they'd been back then.

He knew what he needed to do; some part of him had known from the moment he'd sought her comfort on the porch of Stanley's farm house. The past was gone. There was no reliving it, no bringing it back. To try was as futile as beating a rock expecting water to spring forth.

Truth be told, he didn't want to relive it.

Emily glanced toward the kitchen, picturing the table she'd set so perfectly for him. "If you're here to apologize for missing dinner last night—"

"I'm not." His words sliced through her attempted scolding. A part of Jake thought that perhaps he should've been less abrupt with his response, but after finding out that Emily made Heather believe that the two of them were getting married, he had little patience or inclination for delivering apologetic platitudes. In his mind's eye, he could see the hurt in Heather's eyes and hear the resignation in her voice.

"_Be gentle with Emily," _his mother had warned him. In watching Emily now, Jake remembered the girl she had been. A damn good catcher in baseball. His best friend. His first lover.

Jake shook his head, looking down momentarily before finding the resolve to look her square in the eyes. How many times in his five years away had he dreamed of having Emily again, of having another chance with her, a chance to set things right? How many times had he ached to pick up the phone and call her only to set it down again knowing she didn't want to hear his voice? Worse yet, feeling as though he was the one who had taken every shred of happiness away from her. He had told himself that he'd moved on, but he hadn't, not when so much of himself had to been tied to her.

She was the one who got away, as he'd told Freddie. He'd idealized her, and all those issues they had before he left, those issues that were never resolved, issues that were only compounded by Chris's death, appeared frequently with the subtlety of an elephant in the room.

Emily felt her face grow warm. Jake's simple words alternately stunned and stung her. Her voice lowered as she crossed her arms, hugging her lean body. Her eyes caught his, and she understood why he had finally shown. "Don't. Don't do this. Not now."

It was time to let go, for both of their sakes. "Em."

Hearing Jake use his nickname for her only made Emily feel more anguished. His voice no longer held the softness when he said it. His voice was brusque and final. _So final_. The lump that formed in her throat was a tangible reaction to what she knew was coming, but still, she fought against it. "Don't," she repeated lifting her hands in an ineffectual attempt to conduct the conversation.

"I have to." He took a deep breath. This wouldn't be the first time they'd broken up, but it would be the last. "It's time for us to move on. It's not working between us, and it's never going to."

Just like that? _Just like that?!?! _

"I can't believe what I'm hearing."

Denial. Jake was familiar with this, as well. When Emily was told something she didn't want to hear, she denied it. It was that way when he told her he was going away to Embry Riddle. It was that way when he told her he'd taken a job with her father to stay near Jericho and support her so she could finish her degree. It was that way now, so many years later.

"We aren't happy together." The calm with which Jake spoke scared Emily more than if she'd antagonized him into a screaming match as she had been wont to do in the past. His words were calculated, measured, not off the cuff. Emily knew he truly believed what he was saying.

Panic rose within her. Her indignation over the missed dinner evaporated, replaced with desperation. "Don't you see? We never had the _chance_ to be happy, but it doesn't have to be like this! We can have what we once did. All we have to do is try! We're the same as we always were, Jake. Just older." She reached out and clasped his arms, in part to emphasize her sincerity and partly to steady herself. "You and me against the world. Remember?"

Tears clouded Emily's eyes, and the room spun around her like a kaleidoscope of images. She remembered another time when tears had filled her eyes, a time when he'd been there to take away her tears, not cause them.

_They were little more than kids as he approached her where she sat alone in the bleachers at the ball field. The crowd had left long ago, leaving behind the scent of stale popcorn to mix with the aroma of freshly-cut grass. They also left behind a thirteen year old girl who had a way of lifting her chin in defiance even as the comments of those around her tore her down._

_Emily saw Jake approaching and turned her body, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. They'd been going steady for two whole weeks and had been best friends for a lot longer, but she still wasn't ready for him to see her cry. _

_Jake settled next to her and patted her back awkwardly. "Don't let 'em get to you, Em." _

"_I'm fine," she insisted pulling her ball cap tighter to her head, using the bib to obscure her eyes somewhat. "I'm used to it, you know? 'Jonah Prowse is a louse' and all that. It's…it's just not easy having everyone know what he did. I just wish they'd forget about it."_

"_If they don't leave you alone, I'll make 'em forget," Jake replied gruffly balling his right hand into a fist and pounding it against the palm of his left hand. _

"_You gonna beat up everyone in the eighth grade, Jake?" The smallest hint of amusement played in her voice, despite the heaviness in her heart._

"_I'll take on the whole world if I have to. I won't let anyone hurt you, Em."_

"_And you could do it. And I'd be right there with you. You and me against the world. Of course," she added with a frown," if you get into another fight, it's totally gonna piss off your dad."_

"_I can handle him. 'Sides, he's too busy telling everyone else how to run their lives to care what I do."_

_Emily rubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans. She knew that Jake didn't get along with his dad all the time, but she would've given anything to have a dad like Johnston Green. "At least your dad's not in prison," Emily replied glumly. _

"_Your dad doesn't make you who you are, just like mine doesn't make me who I am."_

"_But I'm just 'that Prowse girl' to everyone around here." Emily thought she would've done anything to escape her father's notoriety. Maybe if she lived somewhere else, no one would ever have to know… " You ever think about leaving this place?" _

"_All the time. Sometimes when Gramps takes me up in his crop duster, I wish we'd just keep going instead of circling around and landing."_

"_I wanna go with you, Jake," Emily said suddenly._

"_In Gramps's crop duster?" Jake frowned. The plane was a small two-seater, and he wasn't allowed to fly by himself yet. _

"_Away from here. When you go, I wanna go with you. You and me against the world. Right?"_

Jake cleared his throat and extricated himself from Emily's grasp, bringing her to the present. "No, we're not the same, and we're not kids anymore. You want something I can't give you, Emily."

"All I want is you."

"No, you don't. You want to keep reliving the past, and I don't."

"Jake—"

Jake's calm began to edge away replaced by exasperation. "No, I don't want to go back there! I don't want to remember that punk, that kid who had no character and was constantly looking for trouble and who was damn good at finding it."

Emily leaned against the wall, sinking down until she hit the floor. "Why did you even do it? Why did you come back here, turn my life upside down, and make me love you all over again, if you were only going to run out on me again? I don't deserve this, Jake!"

Jake exhaled loudly. He felt like he was sinking in quicksand. The more he struggled against Emily, the faster he would sink. No, he needed to get this over and get out.

"What have I _ever _done to you except love you?" She spoke with such animation that her golden waves fell across her cheeks, stuck there by the tears that had finally spilled. With ferocity, she brushed the hair from her face with her slender fingers.

"Is that really what you think?" Anger flashed in his eyes. "How can you say you love me when you don't trust me? I can see in your expression, in your words that you're just waiting for me to screw up. And for what? So you can punish me over and over again? Dammit, Emily, we bring out the worst in each other, and I'm not going to spend my whole life walking on eggshells!"

Emily lifted her chin, only one small outward sign of her changing demeanor. "Do you even know what today is?"

Jake racked his brain. Up until Heather returned, the days had run together, one day much like the one before. What the hell was she getting at anyway?

When Jake didn't immediately reply, Emily filled in the blanks for him. "April 13."

And then the date hit Jake like a ton of bricks, and he could see the blotchiness in Emily's cheeks that he'd mistaken for mere anger. He took a deep breath trying to keep his own emotions in check. "Chris's birthday."

She stood, pushing aside her moment of weakness, gathering strength as she pressed a familiar issue. "He would've been twenty-eight today, and we should've been together celebrating. Not—not this. _That_ is why I have difficulty trusting."

Jake swallowed hard, memories flooding his mind of the day that changed everything for them. He remembered her blistering words, the way she literally tore their little house apart as she threw things at him. Emily had needed some way to channel her grief and anger, and he had been the most convenient target. Logically, he knew this. He could even accept it on some level now that he'd had some distance from the situation. Yet every time he thought he had a handle on that part of his past, she dragged him back there with her. It was his fault, she'd told him over and over. He may as well have pointed the gun at Chris's head and pulled the trigger himself.

No. _Not this time_. "We're not going to do this again."

Anger blazed in her eyes. "I deserve to be heard out. You owe me!"

"I owe you?" Jake's tone echoed the incredulity he felt as pieces of a puzzle began to fall into place. She'd said what he'd felt for so long—that he owed her something, that he needed to make up for what had gone wrong in the past. Yet hearing her now, seeing the tumult in her eyes and the hardness of her features, Jake finally recognized the absurdity of her statement.

"I needed you here with me last night, Jake! We needed it, for us, but you stood me up! You told me you'd be here and instead you were with Heather at the ranch doing God knows what! I should be used to it, right? You told me you'd take care of Chris, and you didn't. He's not here to celebrate his birthday because he's dead! You said you'd always be here for me, and you walked away." Her laundry list of his misdeeds was punctuated by her finger jabbing him in the chest.

And so it came back to this. They were back to the beginning of the end.

He brushed her hand away. "Done yet?"

"What? You have something more important you have to do?"

Jake balled his fists. Sometimes at night, when he tried to fall asleep, he would see faces, the faces of people he had encountered in his life, people he couldn't save. The little girl in Iraq. Freddie. Randy Payton. Chris Prowse. His father.

"Enough! Don't you think I wish Chris was here, too? Don't you?"

She said nothing, merely glared.

"You're not the only person who lost him, Emily!"

"He was _my_ little brother!"

Jake's voice boomed. "Who was grown up and made a choice! You're so keen on people paying for mistakes, right? That mistake's already been bought and paid for. How about placing the blame where it belongs?"

"I can't believe you just said that to me!"

"And I can't believe that after all this time you're still trying to hold me hostage with guilt! Worse yet, I've been a damn fool for falling for it!"

Emily clenched his arm before pushing against it roughly. "Hold you hostage? What's that supposed to mean? No one has _ever_ forced you to do something you didn't want to do, Jake Green."

"I've been eaten up with guilt over what happened to Chris for nearly six years now. Do you have any idea how many times I've thought through my last conversation with him, wondering if I'd said something different, done something different, that I could've changed his mind?"

"How sad for you," her voice caustic.

"Is this what you want for yourself? Always living in the past? Choking on your misery?" He began for the door, but Emily hurriedly intercepted him, planting herself against the door.

"So how was it, Jake?" she challenged.

"Move out of the way." He didn't want to have to move her himself, but he would if necessary. He needed to get away from her—and fast. This part of himself that he'd tried to bury, this dark part of himself, was threatening to rear its ugly head.

But Emily stayed put, her feet virtually planted on the floor. "I know why you weren't here last night. And it explains a hell of a lot today, why you've suddenly decided that we aren't 'good' for each other." She smiled bitterly. "Didn't take the two of you long, did it? You wonder why I have a hard time trusting you?" Her smiled faded. "Maybe I'd find you more trustworthy if you weren't fucking my best friend behind my back."

"That is bullshit! Heather has too much respect for you and for herself to be in that situation! And I would never do that to you, either. I'm not that type of man, but you never noticed. This isn't about Heather. This is about you. This is about me."

"It _is_ about Heather. How long until the sheen wears off, Jake? What then? Are you going to toss her aside, too? You are pathetic."

"You want to talk pathetic? Making Heather believe that you and I were going to get married? And for what? Because you felt threatened? First and foremost, Heather is my friend and yours. What you tried to do to her—"

"What _I_ tried to do to her?" The lump was forming in her throat again, and fresh tears filled her eyes. "I care about Heather, enough to want her away from you. You destroy everything you touch, and I am living proof of that. And still, here I am, standing before you, despite the fact that you turned your back on my brother, despite the fact that you turned your back on me. I am standing before you wanting to reach out, wanting to know what I can do."

"Emily." Her name came out as a sigh. "Move on. There's nothing left here. I should've told you that as soon as I realized."

"But there's something with Heather?" Emily swallowed hard. "She'll never be able to do for you what I can do for you, Jake. You know how good it can be between us."

"This isn't about Heather," he repeated. "I don't like who I am when I'm with you."

"No, of course not. But you see the bright, innocent, hopeful looks she gives you. She doesn't know you. Not like I do. When she does, do you really think she's going to keep looking at you like that?"

"There is something broken in you, Emily. Has been for as long as I've known you."

Emily was momentarily stunned into silence, their conversation so reminiscent of the ones she had heard between her parents growing up. She loved her mother. Even now, she wished her mother had fought to live, but at times Emily hated her mother.

This was one of those times. For as much as people reviled Jonah Prowse and said that Emily was her father's daughter, Emily was also her mother's daughter. Jonah Prowse had been her mother's undoing, and Emily was in jeopardy of letting Jake Green be her undoing.

A dangerous glint filled Emily's eyes as she forced herself to straighten her posture and lift her chin in defiance. "_Right_." Sarcasm tinged her voice_._ "And you had nothing to do with that." Emily inched away from the door and ran her hands down her abdomen, pulling at the hem of her shirt. "You know what, Jake? I can do this on my own. I don't need you." Her hand went to the doorknob, and she pulled the door ajar.

Jake opened his mouth to speak, decided against it, and made his way outside. The door slammed behind him, and as he walked down the driveway, he was fairly certain he could discern the sound of glass shattering.

* * *

to be continued in chapter 14...


	20. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:** A special thanks goes out to my beta, Skyrose.

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter 14**

Blood dripped off her hands, warm, slick. It fell in droplets on the beige, speckled tiles, splattering. The scent of copper filled her nostrils, as the taste of bile filled her mouth. She wiped her hands on her jeans, but still the blood fell, its crimson now cascading in a steady stream. What had been splatters was now a deepening pool. Blood washed over her feet, rising to her ankles. Overwhelmed with a sudden desperation, she tried to move toward the door, only to find her feet refusing the command her brain screamed, unable to move through what was beginning to be a flood of the warm liquid. In glancing frantically around the room, she saw that her hands were not the only source of the scarlet fluid. Blood seeped through the walls, streaking down the ivy-laden wallpaper.

Waist high now, immobile, she tried to shout, to beg, to pray. The words would not form.

And then she saw his body float toward her in the ever deepening flood, the khaki of his uniform imperceptible in the torrent of red. His eyes were fixed upward, empty. And as he came closer, her impulse to flee strengthened, only to be countered by a stronger force which held her in place.

She couldn't close her eyes to look away, nor could she turn her head.

But he could.

With the suddenness of a striking snake, his head turned, his once blank stare filled with hate. "You did this to me."

And then she was pulled under. The liquid filled her lungs, edging out the last of her breath.

Everything was black.

With a gasp, Heather jerked away, sitting upright in bed. Her hand fumbled for the nightstand she knew to be next to her, seeking the lamp. Finding the switch, light filled the decidedly cheerful yellow—_not red_—room. Still, her heart felt as though it would come from her chest. And though the specters that clung to the edges of her consciousness faded significantly, she could not shake the horror, the guilt, even knowing that she would do it all over again if she had to.

This had to end. The last few weeks, waking in terror, were taking a toll on her. The previous night had been the exception. She had slept deeply at the ranch with Jake in a nearby chair.

_But_, she reminded herself, _Jake's not available to chase away the nightmares_. He had left hours earlier to see Emily, and as far as Heather knew, he was not back. At least, she hadn't heard him make his way up the stairs, and it had to be late. Even if he was back, she didn't want to depend on him—or anyone else—to make things right for her. Besides, if he started asking questions again…

She ran her hands through her hair before settling back on the pillow, the lamp still on. She closed her eyes, hoping to find the ever elusive good night's sleep, but when she tried, she kept replaying the dream in her head. Finally, she threw aside the comforter and pulled on the old sweatpants she had worn the night before at the ranch to accompany the too large t-shirt of Jake's that Gail had given her to sleep in. Trudging down the stairs barefooted, she headed toward the kitchen for a glass of water.

As she did, she spotted the light on in the living room and saw Jake sitting on the sofa with a photo album open across his lap, his eyes closed. She hesitated for a moment, watching him sleep, wondering what he dreamt. Finally, she walked to where he slept and gently put her hand on his shoulder to awaken him.

"Jake," she said softly.

And suddenly his hand was clenched around her wrist, a surprisingly quick and strong reaction to her attempt to rouse him. His eyes flew open, still bleary, but focused enough to realize that she was no threat to him. "I'm sorry," he murmured releasing her wrist. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head. "No. I—I didn't mean to startle you. I just—I just thought that you'd rather sleep upstairs. In your bed, that is, rather than on the couch."

Jake rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Not sure. Late."

Jake's eyes finally were able to center fully on her, clad in his t-shirt and too big sweat pants, her hair slightly rumpled, her feet bare. "Why aren't you in bed?"

"I was thirsty. I came down to get a drink of water." She glanced down noticing the album in his lap. "Hmmm, so you're a sentimental guy after all?"

Her teasing tone brought a hint of a smile to his lips. "Nah. My mom had these sitting out. Guess I was just feeling nostalgic tonight. _Not _sentimental."

Heather looked down and saw pictures from what must have been a family vacation. She easily recognized Johnston and Gail, along with Jake and Eric, in front of Mount Rushmore. The red and white baseball shirt Jake wore, along with the cut off jeans looked unkempt compared to Eric with his tucked in polo-style shirt and khaki shorts. Even then they had a style all their own. "Sometimes it's nice to look back."

"Sometimes," Jake replied cryptically, his levity gone, "but it's better to look forward." That had been one of the hardest lessons Jake had learned over the last six plus months. People are shaped by their pasts, yes, but that shape is not predetermined.

"I can't argue with you there." Her thoughts returned to her dream, its images still so fresh in her mind. And why wouldn't they be? The room in the dream, the blood on her hands, both had been real. What purpose did it serve to continually rehash that night? If she had not done what she did, Eric would be dead. If she had to do it all over again, she would have done the same thing, nightmares notwithstanding.

So looking forward sounded wonderful.

Delightful.

Preferable.

Easy said than done.

Logically, she knew she was not a cold-blooded killer. Emotionally, she was all over the place. Even if Bart Travers wasn't a good man, he was still a human being. He had a family, kids who loved him.

'_Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together_.' "Okay. Well, I'm gonna get that glass of water and head back upstairs," she said as lightly as she could muster.

Jake furrowed his brows as he watched a cavalcade of expressions cross her face finally settling on one of neutrality. She was masking something, he could tell, for Heather was many things, but neutral was not one of them. He reached out and captured her hand, tenderly compared to his automatic reaction upon waking. "Heather, wait."

She sucked in a breath when she felt the gentle tug he gave her, urging her to sit next to him without actually saying the words. Was he about to tell her that he and Emily had talked through what happened? That they realized it was all a silly misunderstanding? Was she going to get the 'You're a good friend but only a friend' spiel? She could do without that. She didn't need a speech from him to know that what she felt for him was impossible and that he had likely realized that, too, upon seeing Emily. "What is it?"

Jake sought her eyes, made difficult by the fact that she kept averting them. Her brows were creased slightly, the mask of a moment ago slipping, and she lightly chewed her bottom lip. To him, she looked almost pained by sitting there with him, and he wondered whether he should broach the subject. Yet he couldn't stand for Heather to think that his time away that evening had been a happy reunion with Emily. Not when all he wanted to do was pull her close, keep her there. He had been cagey in the past where she was concerned, keeping her out when he should have let her in; he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. "When I went to Emily's house tonight, it wasn't a date. We broke up."

"Oh, um, wow." She felt at a loss for words. She knew that Jake had been furious with Emily the day before, but she never imagined that the two would break up. Granted, she never saw a reunion between them as an inevitability as, say, Emily did, but with their shared history, of how they were always drawn to one another, Jake's words seemed surreal. "I'm sorry things didn't work out," she finally managed. That was what one was supposed to say. Right? Instead, it felt foreign as it rolled off her lips.

"You are?" He shot her an incredulous look, mingled with something else she couldn't quite identify.

"Okay. That sounded lame," she admitted shaking her head. What did she feel? She wasn't entirely sorry, for this breakup meant Jake was no longer attached, and maybe what seemed like such a beautiful dream at the ranch could be a reality for them both. Yet pleased that they had broken up wasn't quite the right description, either. After all, these were her friends above all else. It didn't make her feel good if either of them was in pain. "Look, I want you to be happy. I want Emily to be happy."

"We _weren't _happy," Jake replied adamantly. "I could bore you with the details—and maybe someday I will—but I was never going to make Emily happy. She wants something I can't give her."

"Marriage." Emily's announcement that Jake was the man she was going to marry came back to her, as did the hurt that Heather felt when her friend revealed the "engagement." Heather tried to push those thoughts away. How she felt about what happened wasn't important right now.

Jake scowled, remembering his conversation with Emily, the fact that it was Chris's birthday, the fact that despite all that had happened between them, she had not let go of the idea that he was responsible for her brother's death. "She wants to redo the past."

Heather shifted on the sofa, turning her body so that she could better face him, pulling her left leg under herself. "You okay?" She squeezed his hand lightly.

Jake considered her question for a moment. Five and a half years ago when he tore out of town after Chris's death, after Emily's abject rejection of him, he felt like he had lost everything he knew and everyone he loved. He drifted, searching for a way to dull the loss, getting into situations along the way that were beyond reckless, situations that any sane man would have avoided. They had nearly caught up with him before his return to Jericho.

Now he was disappointed, sure. After all, he had spent years idealizing something that didn't exist, hoping for what had once been comfortable to still fit. But he was also surprised. Surprised that he didn't feel any sense of desperation as he did when he and Emily parted in the past, surprised that above all else, he felt relief.

"I'm fine. Think I've known all along it wasn't going to work. Just didn't want to face it."

Silence hung in the air between them for a moment.

Heather leaned her head against the sofa and finally spoke. "How did she seem to you?"

Jake drew in a breath, filled with awe. Despite the obvious disintegration of Heather's friendship with Emily, Heather was still concerned for her. The worry was evident from the tone of her voice to the widening of her blue eyes. This only reinforced, in his mind, what he had told Heather the day before. She was a far better friend than Emily deserved.

How did she seem? Hurt, angry, bitter, irrational. All those words came to mind. It was as though he had stirred a hornet's nest, and though much of her ire was directed at him, Jake was worried that Heather would get in Emily's crossfire, be stung by her venom. "I think you'll want to steer clear of her for a few days."

"Why?"

"She'll need time to calm down." He noted the confusion that infiltrated her features. He explained further, "She thinks that we're sleeping together."

Heather pulled her hand away from him and sat up straight. "What?"

"Because we stayed at the ranch together last night, because you're staying here, because she's insecure. Take your pick." His tone had grown harsh, and he caught himself, softening it before continuing, "I told her she was wrong, but she didn't want to hear it."

"But you would never…! I would never…!" Heather crossed her arms, hugging herself. She wasn't sure whether to feel angry, sad, or just incredibly guilty. "Jake, I'm sorry. My being here—it's made things difficult for you."

"You're wrong. Your being here has made things easier. Much easier. And brighter. You have no idea…," his voice trailed off. He looked down at the photo album, still on his lap, and moved it to the coffee table. Then, turning his body, he rested his right arm on the back of the sofa, leaning slightly toward her as he spoke. "What was going on with Emily and me—it's been this struggle for years. Like a tug of war or a game where no one ever wins. It's not anything you've done, Heather. Emily needs someone to blame for what's wrong in her life. If it wasn't you or me, it could have been anyone else."

"But it's _not_ anyone else, and here I am, still with you, the very thing that she feared. Emily sensed I was untrustworthy where you're concerned, and she acted on it. I wasn't going to…to…act on anything, but I can't help but feel like a hypocrite because I wanted to, Jake. Last night, I wanted you to kiss me. I wanted to be close to you. I never wanted to leave the ranch. I don't blame her for being upset with us."

Jake could barely believe his ears. Was Heather defending Emily, on the one hand, while acknowledging that there was something between them on the other? "I care about you. As more than a friend," he added gruffly. "And I'm not going to apologize for that!" He took a deep breath, calming himself. This was not how he planned to tell Heather he had feelings for her, but it was time to acknowledge the elephant in the room. "I want a chance, Heather. I want to know everything about you, to spend time with you. Maybe I don't have the right to ask that of you, maybe you think it's too soon, but I'm asking anyway. Will you let us see where this connection takes us?"

Heather's face felt warm, and her heart pounded in her chest. '_Oh wow. This is what you've wanted. Are you going to shy away, play it safe because that's what you've always done, or are you going to live life like you mean it?' _The time for playing it safe was over. If nothing else taught her that, then the experiences of the last six months certainly drove home that point. Life was both precious and precarious.

"Yesterday, when we were at the ranch, I realized just how much I want that same chance." Her breath caught within her as she felt his hand stroke her hair. A wry smile filled her features. "Mary told me to stop being a martyr."

"And she's right. Remind me to thank her next time I see her." The joviality that filled his voice made Heather's stomach do somersaults. "To think that a week ago, we thought you were never coming back."

Heather groaned slightly. "A week ago, I had my doubts. Our Army friends weren't very receptive to my wish to come back here at first."

A week ago, Jake had been in a dark place. He went through the motions of living, but he didn't feel alive. Now, all of that had changed. Heather Lisinski was a major contributing factor to that change. "I'm not sentimental. Damn well wish I was, so I could put into words what your being here means to me."

His hand relaxed at the nape of her neck, and Heather found herself drawing closer to him until she rested the palm of her hand against his chest. Through the thin material of his t-shirt, Heather could feel his heart beating, so steady, so strong. Her own heartbeat felt so erratic, or were those the butterflies? She couldn't be sure. All she knew was that this man, this incredible man, had her heart, no convincing necessary.

"Jake…" Hearing her say his name, so much like she did when they first met on the school bus on the day of the attacks, stirred him. "…you're doing just fine with your words."

He edged closer to her, resting his forehead against hers. "I'm much better at expressing myself with action."

"Maybe we should…"

The sound of the front door closing startled them from their closeness. Gail Green walked in, pulling off the jacket she wore as she did. "I thought April was supposed to be a warm month." She looked to her son and Heather who sat on the couch, Jake with a look of exasperation on his face and Heather with a soft blush on her cheeks. Gail had no doubt in her mind that he had interrupted something. "You two are up late."

"I came downstairs to get a glass of water." Heather's face grew hotter, realizing that she still hadn't made it to the kitchen, a fact that wouldn't be lost on Jake's mom if she glanced around and saw that there was nary a used drinking glass in sight.

"And I haven't made it to bed yet. Wanted to make sure you got home before I did."

"And so the child becomes the parent," Gail remarked.

"How were things at the med center tonight?"

"Moderately busy. Looks like there's a stomach virus going around."

"Maybe you should go take a nice, hot shower. Wash off the germs."

A smile crossed Gail's features as she did a double-take. "Did you say 'hot' shower? You fixed the hot water heater?"

"Not me," Jake corrected pointing at Heather with his thumb. "She did."

"Oh, Heather, thank you so much! I can't tell you how happy that makes me!"

"I'm just glad I could help," Heather replied simply. "Hopefully before too long, it'll be easier to get replacement parts or, for that matter, replacements when needed."

"I'm not holding my breath," Gail replied, her voice tinged with wryness. "You know, we can't even call medical supply companies that we know are still in business. Can't get a phone line out of this town. Everything has to go through Jennings & Rall. We give them the requisition form, and they supply what we need—or what they deem we need. I don't like relying on them."

Jake and Heather locked eyes for a moment, a look passing between them that was not lost on Gail. "What?"

"It's nothing," Jake replied. "Just government bureaucracy for you. The more things change, the more they stay the same."

Gail sighed. "I guess I should just be glad that things have gotten better, that we are actually getting food and medical supplies into town, that repairs are being made."

"True," Heather agreed. "It could be a lot worse." She paused for a moment. "Of course, that's what people always say in movies right before it gets worse. Whoops."

"Good thing this is real life then," Gail commented. "Jake, could you help me carry my bag upstairs? I'm just dead on my feet."

"Sure." As the two walked up the stairs, Jake bristled mildly, "Real subtle, Mom."

When they were in the upstairs hallway, Gail stopped walking and turned to her son. "I didn't want to say anything in front of Heather, but Emily came in to the med center tonight."

"She did? What was wrong?"

"Well, she refused to talk to me about what happened, but from the looks of it, she cut her hand pretty badly. Kenchy stitched her up, spent quite awhile with her, talking about something. I heard your name mentioned, but I couldn't tell what they were saying."

Jake clenched his jaw. He had heard the breaking glass when he left her house, but he had been so eager to remove himself from the situation, he had not checked on her. "Her hand?"

Gail understood what Jake was getting at. "Not her wrist," Gail affirmed. "Not like her mother."

Jake ran his hand across his forehead absently. "Checking on her would probably make things worse."

"Probably, if what I think happened has. You two break up?"

"Yeah."

"Give her time. She has wounded emotions and wounded pride, especially if you and Heather…"

"You think I shouldn't rush into starting something with Heather."

"It's not my call. You two need to do what's right for you, not what's right for Emily or me or anyone else. That's your call. And Heather's."

"I didn't break up with Emily for Heather."

"But…"

"But there's something there, and I plan to see it through."

Gail squeezed Jake's arm. "Heather's a good girl, and I really like her, Honey."

"I've never known anyone like her."

Gail smiled. "She is special, but then again, I think you're pretty special, too." She kissed Jake on the cheek. "Now I'm going to try that hot water."

Jake turned on his heels and jaunted back downstairs. When he headed into the living room, he saw Heather stretched across the sofa, eyes closed, fast asleep. He thought about rousing her to at least get her upstairs to her room, but thought better of it when he saw the look of contentment on her sleeping face. He pulled an afghan from a nearby chest and spread it over her sleeping form. She stirred slightly, but he kissed her forehead lightly and whispered, "Sshhh. Go back to sleep."

He grabbed a photo album, settling in his father's oversized chair, stretching his legs on the ottoman. Yet before long, his lids, too, became heavy. As sleep overtook him, a thought repeated in his mind. _I've never known anyone like her._

* * *

"Military's crawling all over the place." Nathan Travers released his hold on the slatted blinds and turned back to his companion. "You sure about this?"

The red haired woman looked at her brother. With his hair cropped short, his cheeks cleanly shaven, and the pilfered uniform he wore, he could have fooled her if she didn't know better. "You should blend right in."

"And if someone stops me? What then? I can't work my way through every damn soldier. Just got lucky with the one. He didn't see it coming. These guys—they're on alert. Maybe Constantino…."

"No," she hissed. "We agreed he wouldn't be involved in this! The fact that—" she lowered her voice trying to steady her emotions. "The fact that he insisted Dad's death be kept quiet showed me one thing, Nate. We're in this together. Just you and me. Not Phil Constantino. Heather Lisinski got away with murder, and everyone thinks our dad tucked tail and ran. Do you have any idea how that eats at me? Any idea at all?"

Nathan sat on the sofa and cradled his head in his hands. "Yeah, Nora, I do."

The young woman knelt in front of her brother. The last thing she needed was for him to fall apart, but this was getting to be their pattern. He'd have doubts, and she'd pull him through. She'd have doubts, and he'd pull _her _through. But they were close. So close. All Nate had to do was follow through with his part of the plan; she would do her part. Then they would finally have what they had worked toward for the last month. After that…ideally, they'd resume their lives as normal, but she did have to allow for the possibility that it wouldn't be as easy as that. Killing an Army lieutenant was no frivolous matter. Growing up the children of a police officer, they knew that the police took care of their own—or at least, they used to. Nora suspected the military wouldn't be any different.

"About Constantino--he's not a factor anymore. I heard he's being taken to Cheyenne."

"So it really is you and me." The man looked at his younger sister and could see the determination in her expression.

"Yeah. And no matter what, we do this." Nora stood and walked to the dining room table, pulling a powder blue polo shirt from a paper bag.

"What's that?"

With a raised brow, she replied, "My ticket into Jericho."

* * *

_to be continued in Chapter 15..._


	21. Chapter 15

**Author's Notes: **A big thanks goes out to my wonderful beta reader, Skyrose. Also, thank you to all who are still reading after all this time!

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

There were some days that Maggie Mullen wondered why she even bothered. Not that living a life of misery comparable to what would be found in Russian literature wasn't bad enough, but she just felt so useless. So alone.

At least when she was traveling with Scott, with Jim, with Matthew and the others, she could talk herself into believing she was part of something important. She and the others had played the role of Marines with aplomb and offered hope to those they encountered. The food and supplies that people imparted on them surely was a small price to pay for such an elusive thing these days: hope.

But they'd grown careless. Maybe they'd even come to believe their own lines because they'd said them so much. Regardless, the gig was up, and they were sent packing out of Jericho. They eventually disbanded (the tank really did make a difference), and she'd wound up in New Bern.

_Not every visitor comes through the front door_. Her mother's words came back to her then, and instead, she found another way into the city. After days of walking to reach New Bern—of wandering, really—she was hungry, bone-tired, and desperate. How she wished she would've heeded the men at the roadblock and gone the other way. _Hindsight._

Instead, she'd found a way around.

She came across a cabin built under a canopy of trees. It looked abandoned, and she let herself in. The amount of food she found was the most she'd seen since before the bombs. She spotted Chicken of the Sea, which would give her some much needed protein, but it was the Oreo Cookies that caused her to weep with joy. Literally. She tore into the package and gorged herself.

Later, she built a small fire and boiled a bucket full of water from a nearby creek. Combining the boiling water with the cool, creek water in the bathtub enabled her to finally wash the layer of grime and stench from her body. She discarded her Marine costume and settled into women's clothes that she found in a closet which, luckily, fit her perfectly.

Just what she needed.

It was _so_ good.

And too good to be true.

She should've known better. With things being as they were, no way would a cabin full of food be left without someone coming to check on it.

The son of the cabin's owner found her the next morning after she'd curled up on the bed. She couldn't be sure of everything that had led up to that moment, but when she awoke by the crush of a body atop hers, she was reminded that this was not the same world.

He was due payment for what she'd taken, he informed her. If she cooperated, he would let her go on her way afterward.

At one point, Maggie would have prided herself on never giving up. The half marathons she used to run to challenge her mind and body, the countless hours of research—much of it dead end—for her dissertation, provided more of a challenge than most people would ever take on, but she had persevered. For that matter, she always thought that she would have that same fight in her directed toward any man who tried to rape her. In this moment, though, feeling the crush of him, she made a choice that set in motion so much that happened thereafter. She 'cooperated.' When he was done, he gave her a towel for cleanup, made breakfast, drew her story from her, walked her to town, and turned her in to the sheriff for trespassing.

Sheriff Phil Constantino.

His name alone made Maggie think of Constantine, the Roman emperor. But whereas Constantine's power as emperor was slipping during his time, Constantino's grew before her very eyes. She witnessed the dissolution of the town's governing council in favor of Constantino's version of martial law. Maggie watched—outsider that she was, she felt she could see it more clearly—as the townspeople gave up their freedoms in favor of security.

Constantino had hardly seemed interested in her and had told his man Travers to put her with the others until he realized that she had been in Jericho. The young man with whom she'd 'cooperated' informed Constantino, and Maggie could see hunger in the sheriff's eyes. Not the type of hunger that could be sated by food, but the type of the hunger that could be sated by power. This man wanted to be an emperor.

Maggie remembered the moment as though it was yesterday. She looked from Constantino, to Travers, to the young man. Compared to the other two men, Constantino looked the part of emperor. Every air about him bespoke his authority. Travers kowtowed to him, and the young man, whom they called Nate, also deferred to him. And so Maggie found herself talking about Jericho to him, with each day that passed trying to make herself in some way useful so that she would not go with the others.

She wasn't exactly sure what would happen if she went with the others, but she'd come to suspect that going with the others was tantamount to signing on for a fate worse than death. Or else it would make her 'cooperation' seem comparatively pleasant. And she was nothing if not practical. After all, didn't the old Russian proverb go 'A wooden bed is better than a golden coffin'?

A few weeks later, she heard that a group from Jericho had arrived.

Once when Nate checked her out of her jail cell for more 'cooperation,' Maggie spotted Stanley Richmond. She didn't really know him by name at the time, just that he was from Jericho. As Nate slept, Maggie snuck out, went to the barracks where the men working on the turbines stayed, and approached Stanley. She tried to warn him that he was in danger, but he recognized her, and was adamant that she was not trustworthy.

And perhaps she wasn't. Nate found her and returned her to the jail, though not before Travers, whom Maggie learned was Nate's father, gave him hell over thinking with a part of his anatomy that was far south of his brain.

Maggie had another iron in the fire, though. When Jake showed up, Phil Constantino promised her a place in New Bern, the opportunity to be part of the community, without the incarceration.

In retrospect, it seemed like it had all happened to another person.

But Maggie Mullen would have done anything to survive, and the time came when she could no longer ride the fence. She threw in with the group from Jericho, helping Eric and Jake Green escape from their holding cell, and getting shot in the process.

When she came back to Jericho, she entertained the notion that perhaps she and Jake could come to some sort of understanding. There had been an attraction there before, though she didn't really want the whole love, marriage, etc. route. No, she would've settled for a warm body and some security. Maggie never stood a chance. Not really. Any time she got within the vicinity of Jake, that blonde would intercept her. It reminded her of kids playing a game of keep away with Jake as the prize, and with her own injuries, she truly didn't have the energy to fight fair, let alone dirty.

Maggie finally gave up.

Surely there was some other way to get by.

How? She didn't know. There wasn't much demand for doctoral students these days. And Russian literature? Not exactly a coveted knowledge set. She planned to see Dale Turner. Surely there was something, some type of skill she could offer that didn't involve being 'cooperative.'

The morning yet early, Maggie, who was staying in the basement of the church, began to walk to Dale's store. She had watched him enough to know that he was always there early. Maybe she would be able to catch him without his little girlfriend around. She found herself shuffling a bit as she walked, the effects of the bullet still making her leg sore, but she had no trouble getting from point A to point B anymore.

Yet what Maggie saw nearly made her legs collapse under her.

Dressed in an Army uniform and speaking to a red-haired woman was the young man called Nate. Panic rose within her. What was he doing there? As quickly as her legs would carry her, she moved in the opposite direction toward town hall.

The trip to see Dale Turner was forgotten.

* * *

When Heather awoke, she was surprised to realize that she was on the sofa in the living room, but even more surprised to see that Jake was sleeping in the chair. The sun was streaming through the windows, illuminating the room with cheer that only a new day and hope for the future could bring. It occurred to Heather that upon falling back asleep—which she _completely_ had not intended to do—she'd not returned to the dreams that had troubled her earlier.

She sat up, allowing the afghan to slide down her arms, and stretched. Jake stirred in his chair.

"Mmm. Good morning." Her voice was hoarse, as it typically was when she first awakened. Nevertheless, it was music to Jake's ears.

"Good morning." He straightened, rubbing his neck where he had slept at a strange angle.

"We're making a habit of this."

Jake yawned. "We're going to have to make a new habit. Or at least get a new location."

Jake's words stole away her leftover sleepiness. A new habit? A new location? Was he suggesting…? _Stop,_ she warned herself. _Stop overanalyzing. Just enjoy this. _And what wasn't there to enjoy? They had finally opened up to one another about how they truly felt, agreed that they wanted to explore those feelings, and they had almost kissed.

_Almost_ being the operative word.

Heather ran her hands through her hair, eliciting a half-smile from Jake as she did. Her hair was sticking out in various directions, and no amount of brushing it with her fingers was going to tame it. She seemed to realize the same thing, for she gave up on her hair, stood, and tugged at the waist of the too-loose sweat pants she wore. "I'm sorry I fell asleep on you last night. I can't believe I did that."

Jake had been disappointed, too, but more so because his mom had interrupted a rather crucial moment. "There'll be other nights." He watched her smile shyly before she looked away and walked toward the windows. "So what are you doing today?"

"Whatever needs doing. I started getting the backyard prepared for a vegetable garden."

"Danger of frost should be over soon." Jake rose from the chair and walked over to her.

Heather looked at him sideways. "Yeah. I talked with your mom about it a few days ago. I'm going to take some of the old seeds, see if I can get them to germinate, and then transplant them when they get sturdy enough and it stays consistently warm outside."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Mmhmmm. So I'll probably work on the yard more today. Maybe see if…" she sighed slightly. "I don't even know. It's April, and I should be at school with the kids counting down the weeks until summer break, but there is no school anymore."

"Emily said," Jake hesitated, wishing he would have left her name out of it. "Emily said school would be reopening soon."

What would they be opening the school to do? Teach the students or indoctrinate them according to the A.S.A.'s revisionist curriculum? If the high school history books were as off-base as Emily had suggested they were and any indication about the changes that were in store for the school, Heather knew there was no way she could participate. It was too reminiscent of Nazi Germany for her taste. And then there was the matter of her role in the whole New Bern debacle. Would parents really want their children in her class when she had inadvertently aided their enemy?

"I don't think I'll be going back. I'll just have to see what else the post-Apocalyptic job market holds." She shrugged trying to force the glumness from her voice. "Who knows? Maybe I'll become a carpenter. I hear Michael Flaherty's a teddy bear." Jake chuckled, remembering all-too-well Eric's horror stories from having worked construction with that man. "Or," she added with a waggle of her eyebrows, "maybe I'll smuggle goods with Dale."

"Great, great," Jake replied with a laugh. "Are you going to make me arrest you?"

With mock indignation, Heather placed her hand on her hips. "So the law isn't willing to look the other way?"

Jake tweaked one of her elbows. "Don't think I could look away from you if I tried."

Heather's eyes widened slightly. "Whew. For a guy who says he's not good with words, you sure are good with them."

"Only when I'm properly motivated."

"Oh? And what's your motivation?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Heather chewed at her bottom lip, and fanned herself with an exaggerated motion. "On that note, I'm going upstairs for a few minutes to change clothes." _Maybe brush my teeth_, she thought to herself.

"I thought I would eat some breakfast and then go out to the ranch before heading to work. Check on the horses. Want to come?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I would." She smiled at the thought of seeing the horses and having a few uninterrupted minutes with Jake.

"Good."

"Good," she echoed.

* * *

Dale Turner looked up when he heard the bells clang on the door of the market. A young woman he guessed to be only a few years older than himself walked in. She was scanning for something, but Dale was doing his own scanning. He immediately zeroed in on the fact that she wore a light blue polo shirt and khaki skirt. _Great. The vultures are back_. What would J&R want now?

They'd been involved in a slow dance for the last month, ever since Jennings & Rall established themselves in Jericho. One of the first things they did was institute official channels for receiving goods. If Dale played nice, they would be more than happy to let his store serve as one of the recipients of their official channels. The problem with that was that by playing nice, they were undercutting him so much, he couldn't make a living. Well, that wasn't true. They offered him a stipend to use his store, all in buffalo dollars, but as best as he and Skylar could tell, it was comparatively far less than what he could get through bartering goods and services.

No, Dale liked the fact that he didn't have to struggle for much these days. Certainly less than the average person. He had grown wealthy. Who would've thought? Dale Turner, whose mom didn't even own the burned out singlewide in which they used to live, was a respected business owner with employees who heeded his every word.

At least, that had been the case before J&R. Now Dale wasn't so sure. They were in a dance, sure, but Dale suspected that one of them would have to leave the dance floor. For now, though, he'd have to play along.

"Could I help you with something?"

The woman's flaming red hair was pulled back in an upswept style, but a few corkscrew curls had fallen from her clip. She nearly jumped when Dale spoke to her, but she quickly tried to mask her apprehension. Still, Dale had been around enough people to know when they were affecting a persona. And this young woman, she wasn't the typical J&R suit.

"I'm hoping you can. I'm looking for someone."

Dale had to fight back a sneer. "What? Your computer database doesn't have what you need?"

She lowered her voice conspiratorially and smiled. "Even Jennings & Rall has its drawbacks. You're local, though, right?"

"Yeah." The hair on the back of Dale's neck stood on end. Something about this didn't feel right. Her smile was forced. She was trying hard. Too hard.

The woman remained seemingly oblivious to Dale's doubts about her, though. "I'm looking for someone. Last I heard, she was living here. Heather Lisinski. Does that ring a bell?"

What did some Jennings & Rall woman want with Heather? Dale didn't know, but he sure as hell wasn't about to make her job easier. "Sorry. Can't help you."

"If you can't help, maybe Gracie Leigh can?" Her tone remained saccharine sweet, but the underlying threat was not lost upon him. The woman must've thought he was a stock boy or clerk and was trying to go over his head.

Dale squared his shoulders. "Gracie Leigh is dead. Has been since Thanksgiving. You folks over at J&R have been breathing down my neck since you got here. How could you not know this?"

"I'm sorry. I just transferred here, Mister…."

"Turner. Dale Turner. This is my operation. Surely you know that, Miss…."

"I see now that you don't have what I need."

"No, I don't." Dale watched as the woman left the store. He looked over at one of his bodyguards, a burly man from Omaha who had arrived a few months ago. "Get a good look at her?" Dale asked.

"Yes, Mr. Turner."

"Good," Dale crossed his arms. "If she steps foot in this store again, I want to know."

"You think she's up to something?"

His blue eyes surveyed her coolly through the glass wall. "I _know _she is."

* * *

The day was too damn sunny, Emily decided as she made her way down Main Street heading toward the Jennings & Rall tent. She could see the blue tent in the distance, but heard the construction on the Jennings & Rall local headquarters that was taking place behind the tent before she ever came within eyeshot. Life was going on around her. She saw a few customers milling about outside of Gracie Leigh's Market, noticed the soldiers walking on the opposite sidewalk. Life as usual. Or as usual as could be expected.

She wasn't entirely convinced that it should go on. At least, this was not how she would have it. Yesterday had been beyond what she predicted. She figured that she and Jake would hash things out and fall into bed. They'd always been compatible there if nowhere else. But no. Jake was…Jake was…

She swallowed hard and fought down the tears that threatened to form in her eyes. No. She wouldn't do this. Not again. She'd wasted too many tears on him.

But were the tears a waste? Was it really, irretrievably over? If she could get him to see…

_Stop it_! Her mind screamed. Maybe there was some vicious cycle. Maybe he was right about that. Maybe they did need to break out of it.

But she couldn't help but long for him still. His strength, his daring, his hands on her bare skin.

No. No! She deserved more than to step aside and wait for him to scratch whatever itch he had with Heather. She would not be like her mother, always standing by, panting for whatever scraps Jonah threw her way.

But how did she move forward when she felt so many things pulling her back? She continued to walk forward, her body a direct contradiction to how she felt.

Her hand throbbed as it grazed her leg.

It was easy to remember why. She'd broken a vase that had belonged to Roger, having thrown it at the door that Jake had stormed through. In her haste of picking up the pieces through her tears, she had cut her hand. She almost didn't realize it until she looked down and saw the blood dripping.

It reminded her too much of her mother.

So many reminders of her mother lately. And Jonah. Too many things she didn't want to recollect.

Emily remembered how Jonah used to tell her that if one thing hurt, the way to get it off her mind would be to hurt something else. At the time she thought he meant that if she had a headache, stubbing her toe would make the headache go away. Now she wasn't so convinced that was what he meant at all. She wished Jake could be the one hurting. But she was hurting instead. The pain of her hand hadn't taken away the pain in her heart.

Would it make her feel better if Jake hurt? If Heather hurt? Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn't. But then at least she could know. And then they could have a taste.

Jake and Heather. Their names didn't even go together!

They were probably laughing at her. Stupid Emily. She didn't even see it coming.

But she did see it coming.

Months ago, when Heather had a crush on Jake, it really hadn't bothered Emily all that much. It was cute in a silly, mildly pathetic, school girl way. Nothing would come of it anyway. Heather was _not _Jake's type. And then Emily watched, saw how Jake was intrigued by Heather's industriousness, her eagerness to help, her joie de vivre. Then he avoided her, and Emily thought it was over, until word came from Eric that Heather was dead. Then Emily knew it was over, and she mourned her friend in her own way. No body. But plenty of other bodies to bury. Grief was a luxury, and she moved on. And then the past came back. The past with bright blue eyes under rose colored glasses, someone who needed to be rescued, her dear friend who felt like a stranger.

Yeah. The joke was definitely on her. Pretty soon everyone would know it. Jake dumped her for her best friend. Her mousy best friend. Make that mousy _former_ best friend. All the old ladies would cluck about it while having the quilting bees. _Did you hear? Jake and Emily broke up again. What do you expect? Emily might be a pretty girl, but with her history, it was bound to happen..._ The patrons at Bailey's would start a drinking game. Take a shot every time Jake and Heather kiss, or every time someone praises Heather for fixing this or that, or every time Jake rescues another stray.

She was getting carried away. Logically, she knew that. But emotionally? It just didn't seem real. Especially not now. Not with the changes coming in their lives. Could she really do this? Yes, she could. She'd done it before, and she would do it again. But was it too much to ask to have someone in her life to make her happy?

Her conversation with Gail intruded upon her mind. Gail wouldn't approve of her wanting someone to make her happy. But what else was new? Gail disapproved of so much where she was concerned. Sure, they had been cordial for several years, and at times even close. It was Gail who helped Emily make arrangements for her mother. It was Gail who gave her advice on how to deal with Chris when he started rebelling. It was Gail who stayed with her after her miscarriage. But it was also Gail who blamed her for Jake getting involved with Jonah, for Jake leaving town, for Jake staying away.

Despite times of closeness, there would always be a divide. Gail would probably be happy for Jake to be through with her, for him to move on to someone less complicated. Emily saw it when she went into the med center the night before to have her hand stitched. Gail thought she was weak. Yes, Emily could see it in her eyes.

_Gail thought she was like her mother._

"Emily! Didn't you hear me calling your name?"

The British accent cut through Emily's fog as she realized that she hadn't been hearing much of anything for the last few moments. Not even the construction that, not long ago, seemed painfully intrusive. She looked at her roommate, still dressed in his scrubs, having just left his shift at the med center. "I have a lot on my mind."

Kenchy Dhuwalia stilled her movements by placing his hands on her arms. "Where are you going?" Concern was evident in his voice.

Emily's eyes narrowed as she shook off his hands and his worry. "Stop feeling sorry for me."

"Who said anything about feeling sorry for you? Looks like you're doing enough of that for both of us. You think you're the only one who's ever been dumped?"

Emily exhaled loudly. "Your bedside manner really sucks, you know that?"

Kenchy's brown eyes sought her blue ones. "I'm not your doctor right now. I'm your friend. And from the sound of it, you could use all the friends you can get."

"True. I'm down by two." She crossed her arms, hugging herself, an unconscious habit.

"So where are you going?"

"I have a meeting with Chet Rawley."

"Who?"

"The fussy little guy from Jennings & Rall. He said he wanted to meet with me about some big plans for the high school."

"Why you?"

"Why _not_ me?"

"Last I heard, you weren't fully on board."

She shrugged. "I'm still not, but I figured what the hell. Something to pass the time. I've got plenty of that on my hands. For a while, at least."

"There will be other men, you know. Men who will worship at your feet. Men who will satisfy you sexually, emotionally. In fact, I'd be happy to stand in. On a temporary basis, naturally."

Propositioned at 9:00 A.M. in the morning. Kenchy was an attractive man, though Emily couldn't say that she particularly _attracted_ to him. Some good, old-fashioned, no-strings-attached sex might get her mind off things for a while. But then what? She didn't want to be a stand-in for the woman Kenchy really wanted, anymore than she wanted Kenchy as a stand-in for Jake. "Oh, naturally," Emily replied as the smallest of smiles crept onto her face. "Until a beautiful redhead comes along or else you find the bottom of your bottle."

"There is that."

Emily looked down at her bandaged hand, brushing aside the topic. "Think it'll leave a scar?"

"You happen to be looking at the best plastic surgeon in Jericho, Kansas."

"I'll take that as a yes then. There are some miracles that even you can't perform." Her eyes scanned the area looking for that familiar figure. Dark hair, jeans, a t-shirt, exuding assurance. He was nowhere to be seen, and she silently chided herself for even looking, even hoping, but she did spot a red-headed women emerge from Gracie Leigh's. "Though speaking of miracles…" she angled her head in the direction of the woman she did not recognize.

Kenchy's mouth went dry. Corkscrew red curls fell from the woman's upswept do, which was the first thing he noticed, but he was more than pleased to see that she had the face of an angel and the body of a temptress. At least, as far as he could tell. But there were certain things that Kenchy Dhuwalia prided himself upon, and being a connoisseur of the female body was one of them. That was part of why he had chosen Las Vegas as the locale for what he had hoped would be his plastic surgery empire: the thought of being surrounded by exquisitely beautiful, exquisitely voluptuous show girls. "She's…"

"Your type," Emily finished. "And she's walking this way."

"How do I look?"

Emily smirked at her friend, whose boldness of thirty seconds ago was replaced by the nervousness of a high school freshman. "Like you've stayed up all night."

Kenchy looked dourly at his roommate. "Then we're even. So do you."

The young woman smiled tentatively as she approached the duo. "Hi. Are you from around here?"

"I am. He's not," Emily pointed to Kenchy. "I'm Emily."

"I'm Wilma."

Emily furrowed her brows slightly. "I don't meet too many Wilmas."

"Yes, well, my mother apparently had a sense of humor. Wilma Flintstone had red hair, too."

Kenchy stepped forward and extended his hand. "I'm Kenchy. You're new here?"

The young woman took it, and the fact that Kenchy's hold lingered a moment longer than necessary was not lost upon her. "Just arrived. Jennings & Rall has been recruiting heavily."

"We've noticed," Emily replied wryly.

'Wilma' debated internally whether to press for information now or conduct more small talk. No, small talk took time, and time was not something she or Nathan had. "I'm new in town, but there is someone I know, and I'd like to get in touch with her. I'm just not quite sure how to find her."

"Oh? Who's that?" Kenchy asked, relieved that the friend was a female.

"Heather Lisinski. You don't happen to know her by any chance, do you?"

The smile Emily had planted on her face dropped. "Yeah, I know her."

"Oh good! Could you tell me how to find her? I owe her so much, and I can hardly wait to repay her for all she's done."

"That's our Heather. Always doing for others."

Kenchy shot a look at Emily. She was speaking with clenched teeth and ample sarcasm. "I think what Emily is trying to say is that we do know Heather. So, Wilma, how exactly do _you_ know her?"

'Wilma' brushed aside his question. "That is a very nice accent, Kenchy. You aren't from around here originally, are you?"

"I grew up in Great Britain. Went to Las Vegas to practice medicine. And then…"

"And then you entered through the gates of hell. I'd like to hear about your experiences sometime. We could compare notes. Perhaps over coffee."

"Or something stronger," Kenchy suggested.

"Perhaps," 'Wilma' replied coyly. "About Heather…"

Kenchy met the young woman's gaze, and found himself wanting to know more about her. It was his curse. The greater the challenge, the greater the want. There was, of course, the possibility that she was no friend of Heather's, in which case it made sense to withhold the information. Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone: protect Heather and find out more about this gorgeous creature. "Maybe you should tell us where you're staying. We could tell Heather you're looking for her and where to find you."

Emily rolled her eyes and pursed her lips before replying, "She's living on Washington Street. Turn right on Jefferson, left on Madison, and you'll run into Washington. Take a right. It'll be the fourth house on the left."

"Right-left-right. Follow the presidents. Thank you, Emily. You've been very helpful."

Kenchy rubbed his chin. "How did you say you know Heather?"

'Wilma' paused for a half a beat, formulating an answer. "College. We went to college together. Actually, I hope you _won't_ mention to her or anyone else that I was asking about her. I'd like it to be a surprise—and you know how small towns are. We've not seen each other in ages."

Emily nearly snorted. "Oh, if I see Heather, I doubt this will come up. We have some other things to discuss."

"Is she still living by herself, by any chance?"

"No, she lives with my… she lives with Jake Green and Gail Green." Emily paused, studying the other woman. "That's an odd question."

"Not so strange, Emily," Wilma replied. "I would just hate to intrude at an inopportune time."

"Oh no. We mustn't have that."

Wilma's eyes narrowed slightly. Evidently, Heather Lisinski had upset this Emily person in some way. Perhaps she would be doing Emily a favor. Wilma glanced at her watch. "I really must be going. It was nice to meet you both." She inclined her head politely and began to walk on.

Seeing his opportunity slip away from him, Kenchy called after her, "About that drink…"

"I'd like that. Soon," Wilma replied as she continued to walk away.

Emily rolled her eyes. "Reel the tongue back in or it's going to drag the sidewalk."

"She looks like a goddess," he said with a sigh. "Think it was smart to tell her where Heather is staying?"

Emily groaned. "Heather doesn't need another hero."

"I suppose not," Kenchy agreed. "I need a drink."

"It's too early," Emily reminded him.

"It's never too early. Must do my part for the food service industry."

Emily was about to fire back a rebuttal when Chet Rawley's high pitched voice pierced the air. "Ms. Sullivan! Ms. Sullivan!"

Kenchy chuckled. "Lucky you."

"Shut up," Emily hissed.

"See you at home."

Emily watched as Kenchy walked away and turned to greet the Jennings & Rall rep who had approached her. "Hi, Chet. I was just on my way to see you."

"I was concerned," he replied with a tap of his foot and a shaking of his finger. "You, young lady, are late. Must be because you didn't have the school bell to warn you."

Whether it was because of her own pitiful mood or the incredibly lame joke, Emily couldn't be sure; all she knew was that she could not muster a smile for this man for anything. "I was talking to one of J&R's newest recruits."

"Who?"

"Wilma. Didn't catch her last name."

"Never heard of her," Chet replied with a shrug, "and with a name like Wilma, I would've remembered that."

Emily frowned as she turned her gaze to the direction in which Wilma had walked a few moments earlier. She was nowhere in sight. "Well, she is new."

"Speaking of new," Chet interjected, clasping his hands together, "I have some fabulous new ideas that I want to run by you. They should make school more meaningful for your students when we reopen soon, and they'll also help promote an active citizenry…"

* * *

To Be Continued in Chapter 16...


	22. Chapter 16

**Author's Notes: **A big thanks goes out to my wonderful beta reader, Skyrose. Also, thank you to all who are still reading after all this time!

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

Lt. Jacob Hamilton had never been a fan of the US Army Criminal Investigation Command. Granted, he was mindful to not reveal too much of his disdain in the company of his fellow soldiers, and he certainly never uttered a word to his commanding officers. Maybe it was because those guys that came out of Fort Belvoir seemed too smug, and Hamilton had never cared for arrogant people. Maybe it was because their jobs had always seemed so easy, so comparatively sanitary compared to what he and his brothers-in-arms were called upon to do. But what he wouldn't have done for one of those smug bastards now. There would be no one else coming to help investigate Barrett Buchs's death. Fort Belvoir was likely a dead zone. As the crow flies, it was less than twenty miles from D.C.

Hamilton tried to remember his training, but it was difficult to concentrate. This was his friend's murderer they were seeking. It felt like a needle in an unfamiliar, unpleasant haystack as he and other soldiers made their way around New Bern.

The area near the railroad tracks where Buchs's burned body had been dumped seemed to provide little in the way of clues. Perhaps what was more startling was what was lacking as opposed to what was present, namely the lack of a uniform. Even with the intense heat, there should have been some wool fibers left from the uniform. That was the whole purpose behind using wool rather than synthetic materials; wool was far more resistant to flames.

Immediately, the crime scene was corded off, and those believed to be part of the New Bern resistance were being rounded up and questioned. Yet he still couldn't wrap his mind around the who and the why. Who would benefit from Barrett Buchs's death? He could think of a few of Barrett's ex-girlfriends who were still resentful, but who knew if they were even still alive after everything that had happened. If they were alive, what were the chances that they would have been able to track him down in Kansas, of all places, with things as they were?

Hamilton had heard more and more rumblings of a resistance movement growing within New Bern. There were plenty of citizens who didn't like the occupation, but why would they go after Buchs of all people? Surely there would have to be strategic value in it. Terror, perhaps? Or an attempt at it? But the resistance group had not claimed responsibility, and wasn't that usually the point of terrorism? All Hamilton could feel was sadness for his friend and good old-fashioned anger.

No, it had to have something to do with his mission. Buchs was part of the detail that oversaw Project Home Sequester. They'd joked at how easy the job detail was, just a babysitting job watching over Phil Constantino. But by all accounts, Constantino still wielded influence over the town. Who's to say he didn't arrange it? But why?

Hamilton knelt next to the cordoned off area. It was unremarkable. Moist, he noticed. Dark soiled. Some foliage, but not heavily wooded. Whoever did this wasn't trying to be particularly discreet.

"Not much to go on, is there?" Dominguez commented.

"No," Hamilton hated to admit.

"Think The Devil can shed some light on this?"

'The Devil' was the nickname they had given Phil Constantino. Oh, it never officially made it into the reports. Something about the man's pointed goatee and easy demeanor made it seem appropriate. "Could be. I'll have to get clearance to speak with him." Hamilton was quiet a moment before asking, "So what do you make of this?"

Dominguez paused, thought a moment, and said, "Wish I knew."

"It's obvious his body was brought here, but he wasn't…torched…here. Everything's too green. But that uniform, there should still be somethin' left of it. I think whoever did this to him took it off of him before burnin' his body."

"But why go to the trouble?"

Hamilton looked up to the sky. The bright sunshine was warming the day with each passing moment, but he still felt cold inside. "If we knew that, I think we'd have our killer."

* * *

"Damn it, Dhuwalia! That hurts!" Despite being in the back room of Gracie Leigh's, the man's bellowing could be heard all the way on Main Street.

"Well," began the doctor, his tone sickeningly patient as he pulled together the skin on Markus Ware's hand with one last stitch, "you're the one with the bad aim. Keep still and I may be able to keep the scar to a minimum."

Ware, whose nose had been broken more times than Mickey Rourke's, scoffed. "What do I care about a little scar? I just want you to stop torturing me!"

Kenchy fought the urge to roll his eyes. "That's your misfortune to have attacked the J&R man in the here and now rather than nine months ago when I could have used a numbing agent."

"Nine months ago, I had no reason to," Ware muttered. The morning had started off fairly ordinarily. Aside from the red-haired woman, they'd known everyone who had come into Gracie Leigh's. Business was good, as those who did not want to rely on the Buffalo credits found themselves relying on his boss more and more. Today was no exception.

And then that namby-pamby J&R guy showed up. Little bastard. Turns out he was faster than he looked. What was his name? Chet something-or-other. And while his boss didn't like this Chet guy any better than he did, he didn't figure Dale Turner would be too pleased with the damage he'd caused when he tried to throw him out and he'd said as much. But more than the damage was the fact that Dale was walking a tight rope with these J&R folks.

"There. Good as new. Keep the wound clean. Pour alcohol on it twice a day. And for God's sake, start using words rather than your fist to express your opinion."

Ware said nothing and merely walked away.

Kenchy placed the unused bandages in his bag, complaining aloud to no one in particular. "That's the thanks I get. I could be indulging in Mary's finest toxins right now. Instead I'm making house calls for reprobates. What is wrong with this picture?"

"He gonna be all right?" Jake Green asked entering the partition.

"Ah, Jake, if you'd only gotten here sooner, you could have participated in the fight yourself," Kenchy replied wryly. "This is _not _what I signed up for."

"I heard there wasn't much of a fight," Jake commented. "So how much of it did you see?"

"I wasn't even here for it. Just the aftermath. Neanderthals."

"Tensions are running pretty high," Jake replied conversationally as the two walked to the storefront. Broken glass from the display case littered the aisle, and a crowd stood outside on the sidewalk peering in.

"Seems to be catching," Kenchy commented.

"Listen, Jake, do you have what you need here?" Dale asked, shifting from one foot to the other, a frown etched on his young face.

"Yeah, you can start cleanup."

Dale looked to two of his workers, gave them a curt nod, and they began to sweep the broken glass. Turning his attention back to Jake, he said, "You know, this wouldn't have happened if J&R would just steer clear instead of trying to run everything."

Jake breathed in deeply, considering his words. He certainly couldn't refute the younger man's assertion. "Dale, you may not like Jennings & Rall, but your men can't handle it this way. The government's backing them up."

"I heard some men talking over at Bailey's," Kenchy interjected. "They said the ASA is considering making it a felony to impede the work of J&R. Attempted assault would surely fall under that category."

"Is that even constitutional?" Dale asked.

"What Constitution?" Jake muttered.

"Then tell me what to do. They're trying to run me out of business."

Jake looked around to see if anyone was listening to their conversation. Satisfied that it was just the three of him, he responded. "Look, off the record, no one's gonna run you out of business. There are ways around everything."

"But this was the second one today. And they were here last week. And the week before that…" Dale's voice trailed off, and he ran his hand through his curly hair. He'd worked too hard to give it all up.

"The second one?" Jake asked. For as efficient as he'd heard J&R was, this didn't fit the bill.

"Yeah."

"So you had two people from J&R here today trying to make you come aboard with this Buffalo Credit system?"

Dale thought for a moment. "No. First one was looking for Heather Lisinski, but they were both pushy and annoying."

"For Heather?" Jake asked frowning. A strange feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. There was no definitive reason for it, but it was there nonetheless.

"I believe I met her," Kenchy added looking to Dale. "Curly red hair? Beautiful ivory skin?"

Dale fought not to roll his eyes. "If you say so. Anyway, I didn't tell her anything. Something's gotta give, Jake, or we're going to have more incidents like today, and I can't guarantee the safety of those who try to shut me down."

"And as sheriff, I have to remind you that I'm duty-bound to uphold the laws."

"Then let's hope this is the worst of it," Dale replied, meeting Jake's stern gaze.

"I've got to head over to the J&R building, take Chet Rawley's statement. Remember what I said. Keep a rein on your men. Don't let them do anything stupid." Jake turned to Kenchy. "Walk with me."

As soon as they stepped outside, Kenchy commented wryly, "That went well."

But Jake had a singular purpose in mind for asking the doctor to accompany him, and small talk wasn't it. "This woman who was asking about Heather, what did she say?"

Kenchy's brows shot up. "Just that she was a college friend of Heather's. Her name is Wilma."

"Did you tell her how to find Heather?"

"Not exactly, but Emily was with me, and she mentioned that Heather was staying with you and Gail."

"Damn it. Why would she do that?"

"I'm sure there's no reason to be alarmed. Wilma looked harmless enough. Better than harmless actually. She's exquisite."

"Did she say anything else about Heather?"

"No, just that she was looking forward to seeing her again." Kenchy, noting the grim frown on Jake's face, asked, "Is Heather in trouble?"

Jake wished he had an answer. From watching her jump at her own shadow, the nightmares he knew she had, the secrecy with which she treated the events at New Bern, who could say? All he did know is that his gut told him it was too coincidental. "Don't know."

"Emily told me the two of you parted ways," Kenchy commented.

"I'm sure she did," Jake replied with clenched teeth. So little time had passed since their breakup, and when he'd left Emily, he'd felt a great sense of relief. Now, after learning from Kenchy that she was leading this stranger that they knew nothing about to Heather, that relief had been replaced with seething anger. He'd thought breaking up with Emily would cut those ties, that she wouldn't be able to have that effect on him anymore. He'd been wrong.

"Emily's a complicated woman," Kenchy began.

"That's putting it mildly."

"You mustn't think too harshly of her. It won't be good for…for anyone."

"Easier said than done," Jake replied as the two reached the Jennings & Rall building. Eager to leave behind the conversation about Emily and ready to attend to the matter at hand, Jake asked, "So you already checked over Rawley before I arrived on the scene?"

"He's suffering from a terrible case of bruised ego."

"That's what I thought and why I sent Eric back over here with him. Thought he might be able to calm him down, diffuse the situation."

Kenchy cleared his throat. "Have fun with that. I'm going to see if I can make it to Bailey's without getting pulled into the middle of another crisis. I have a date with my favorite barstool."

"It's nowhere near 10:00 yet."

"Oh, but I've earned this one," Kenchy replied waving his hand dismissively.

* * *

As Heather sank the shovel into the ground, she grunted slightly. This was hard work, but she was satisfied by her progress. She'd always enjoyed working outside doing little projects with her mom when she was younger. When she was a _very_ young child, one of her greatest thrills was taking the water can and watering the flower bed in front of the small church building where her father preached. She remembered how pretty the blue flowers had been, though exactly what type of flowers they were remained a haze in her mind. Invariably, her thoughts would turn to flights of fancy, as only a child's mind could. She would picture a wreath made of those blue flowers around the neck of a unicorn that would come galloping down the church steps and take her on a faraway adventure to save the kingdom from the evils of ventriloquist dummies come to life. She would feel her mother's hands caress her face, bringing her back to their chores, though Rose Lisinski was never upset with her daughter for dreaming. "Keep dreaming, Heather. Keep dreaming. You never know what will happen."

Heather shook her head, amazed at where her memory had taken her and somewhat pleased that she remembered—albeit briefly—how soft and cool her mother's hands had always felt against her face, how gentle, how delicate she was. Her mother had loved gardening, but as Heather grew older, she had found herself gravitating toward the garage and the giant puzzles those automobiles offered.

Heather rubbed her own hands together. They weren't soft like her mother's.

And now they were decidedly filthy.

She sank the shovel into the ground again, then pushed parallel to the ground, taking the top layer of weedy grass with it. Yes, this was hard work, but she liked it. She liked being busy. She liked being useful. She needed to be useful.

She had joked around with Jake about her job prospects, but the fact of the matter was that she couldn't expect to live off the generosity of the Greens forever. Something had to change. Though she had spoken very tongue-in-cheek about the 'teddy bear', Michael Flaherty, she wondered if there wasn't something she could do to help with the reconstruction efforts. If they were short on supplies, couldn't they improvise a few things? Use the resources they had and make some of what they needed?

She sighed. They couldn't exactly make more trees. That was a problem when it came to lumber. Still, there had to be a way to get some other things.

Or maybe if they could call in some favors…

Her thoughts turned to Hamilton. He wasn't likely to be able to help them to procure supplies. His sphere of influence didn't extend far enough. Perhaps Major Beck? He had seemed so business-like, so detached when she'd spoken to him of what happened in New Bern, but then she would see glimmers of—she wasn't sure what—compassion? She wanted to believe the man the military sent to Jericho was a good man, but the same nagging concerns about the government that plagued her where Hamilton was concerned also bothered Heather where Major Beck was concerned. The big difference being that Beck was far higher in the chain of command, likely privy to more information. Why would he turn his back on the United States government, the government to whom he, as a soldier, swore an oath of allegiance?

Too many questions, not enough answers. That was the problem these days.

And then there was the personal matter of Hamilton. She hoped that he was okay, that he was getting answers about his friend's death. They would need to talk—sooner rather than later. If there had never been a Jake Green, she would have found it so easy to be drawn in by him, to want to be close to him. It would have been so easy to let herself fall for him—his charm, his friendliness, his kindness—they weren't put on. He was smart. He was funny. In the short time she'd known him, he'd been a good friend to her. But there _was _a Jake, and though their situation was complicated, Heather felt a connection to him that she couldn't quite explain. It went beyond physical attraction, beyond hero worship. Jake was just…special. Hamilton needed to hear from her rather than someone else that she wanted to make a go of a relationship with Jake, but how she dreaded that conversation!

And then there was Jake himself. What an amazing early morning they'd had! This…this…_elation_…just ran all through her, almost as if it was a tangible force that she could lift high and admire. It made no sense, truly. It just was. It had begun with waking in the same room with him. It continued with breakfast. When she had returned downstairs, dressed for the day with her hair under control and a minty fresh mouth, she had ventured into the kitchen and saw Jake standing over the stove top tending to the contents of the skillet.

_"Smells good in here," she had said enthusiastically as her stomach grumbled softly in reaction to the aroma filling the room. _

_He looked over his shoulder. "We're having ham omelets." _

_"Oh, Green eggs and ham!" she chirped. Jake groaned, which only drew laughter from her, more so at his reaction than at her own bad pun. "Sorry. That was really cheesy, but you have to admit that it was too good to pass up."_

_"I've heard so many 'green' jokes in my time."_

_"Gee, Jake, you're looking a little Green."_

_"Haha," he replied wryly. _

_"Something I can do to help?" she offered. "Other than entertain you with my witticisms?"_

_"You could slice some bread for us," Jake suggested. "It's from Mrs. Cavanaugh."_

_Heather was very familiar with Elaine Cavanaugh; she'd had her daughter Melody in class her first year of teaching at the elementary school. Mrs. Cavanaugh used to ply Heather with the most sumptuous holiday-themed bread on most every special occasion. Heather gained ten pounds her first year of teaching—and she attributed the weight gain solely to the glories of carbohydrates. Granted, she'd since lost the weight and then some, Heather could not help but look forward to the bread—a little taste from the past, she hoped—and Jake's omelet. _

_Heather spotted the loaf of bread immediately and set it on the cutting board. As she proceeded to cut slices, she found herself smiling. She felt Jake glancing over at him and peered from the corners of her eyes. _

_"What has you grinning over there?"_

_"This is just so…so…normal."_

_"I'm just a normal guy, Heather."_

_Heather wasn't sure she concurred with his self-assessment, but she didn't argue the point. "You do laundry and you cook breakfast."_

_Jake chuckled. "Maybe I should let you find out on your own."_

"_Find out what?"_

"_Breakfast is about the only thing I cook. Breaking a few eggs doesn't take much patience or skill."_

"_Still, this is so nice. I just haven't had normalcy in a long time, you know?"_

_"Neither have I," he admitted. "And yeah, this is nice."_

"_I guess no one's had normalcy," she conceded. "Or else we're learning a new form of normal."_

_Jake took an egg turner and removed the omelet from the skillet onto a plate. Switching off the stove top, he turned to her. "What's it like out there now that the military's moved into the area?"_

_"Still eerie. Coming back, we drove through towns that were abandoned. The water table was compromised." She fell silent for a moment before continuing. "It was strange to see the laundry that had been left hanging on clotheslines, the toys left out. Other places looked like a warzone. Burned out buildings and vehicles. Scorched earth. And then there were other places that looked pristine, just beautiful fields perfectly untouched by all the craziness." She set down the bread knife and turned to Jake. "I think that had to have been the longest two hundred miles ever. And you know Kansas. It can seem pretty long."_

_"Traveling with the military," Jake shook his head. "How'd you ever pull that off?"_

_She sidestepped his question, not eager to get into the specifics of her time away. Not yet. "I can be persuasive when I have to be. You'll learn this about me." _

_"I'm looking forward to it."_

_And there was something about the way he said it that made her feel warm all over. Did he know how he affected her? _

_They gathered plates, glasses, and the food, and settled down to eat in the breakfast nook, but almost as soon as Jake sat, he was up again to get a pitcher of water. Heather's eyes followed him, noticing how his t-shirt fit across his broad shoulders, the narrowness of his waist, the piece of paper that protruded from the back pocket of his jeans…_

"_What's that?" she asked._

"_What's what?"_

"_You've got something sticking out of the back pocket of your jeans."_

"_You checking out my ass?" he asked pulling out the piece of paper after he set the pitcher on the table._

_Heather picked at a slice of the bread and replied as nonchalantly as she could muster, "I don't think I'm going to answer that."_

_Jake slid into the chair next to her. "Pleading the fifth?"_

"_Mmmm. Sheriff Green, you're taking your new responsibilities very seriously!"_

_He chuckled a bit before replying, "Not seriously enough for some." _

_His irritation as he recounted the conversation with Gray about the dress code for sheriff's department employees nearly had her in hysterics as Jake said in his best Gray tone, "'Look it over, and let's get in compliance'" and handed her the regulations._

_"It says here that 'the department uniform shall be worn at all times when an officer is on duty.' You've worn a uniform before, though. Right? I mean, you have those dog tags. You were in Afghanistan. Iraq."_

_"And I told myself never again. No more uniforms. Didn't like the last one I wore. "_

_Truth be told, Heather wasn't particularly fond of them these days, either. She'd seen too much abuse of power from those in New Bern who wore uniforms, those who were supposed to serve and protect. Yet listening to Jake, she found herself wanting to ask more, feeling that there was more than met the eye, but the set of his jaw told her that was all he would reveal for now. Trying to break the tension a bit, she added as she glanced down at the paper, "Oh, and 'Hair shall not touch the collar.' Uh oh. _Shall _not. That's some strong wording."_

_Jake frowned. "Your omelet's getting cold."_

_Heather took a bite to placate him. "Mmm. This is really good." She lowered her lashes for a moment before looking at him, affecting a look of wide-eyed innocence. "I seem to remember a certain fellow--we'll just call him Make Dreen--who mentioned to me not even two days ago that he might be calling on my special haircutting skills. And now, nothing."_

_"That was before Gray wanted me to get a haircut. Now I'm thinking dreadlocks. Or cornrows." Jake's eyebrows shot up. "Think you could braid those?"_

_"Uh, no," Heather replied with a near snort. "I've still not gotten over the image of Jared Leto in _Panic Room_. I couldn't in good conscience do that to you." _

_Jake took a bite of his omelet._

_Heather tilted her head slightly, watching him. "Would it be so terrible to do what Gray wants?"_

"_Let him think he's working me over?"_

"_Sure. I mean, it's a battle of wills, right? You were going to get a haircut anyway. What's wrong with letting him think it was his idea?" From the look on Jake's face, she could tell he was not on board with what she was saying. She switched gears. "Okay, I had this student who was very resistant to pretty much everything. If I asked him to use red construction paper, he'd use blue. If I said the sky was blue, he'd want to argue about that, too. So the trick was to make him think that everything was his idea. You just have to steer him…"_

_Jake set down his fork and looked at her sideways. "Oh my God."_

"_What?"_

"_You're steering _me_."_

"_Would I do that to you?"_

"_You did say you were persuasive."_

_She raised her right hand. "I, Heather Lisinski, do solemnly vow not to use my powers of persuasion against you---when it's not in your best interest." She lowered her hand, laughing lightly. "Jake, Gray is like that student. He's resistant, but if you do little things to make him think you're on board with him, he can be steered. He's just got this…"_

"_Ego?"_

"_Yeah. Folks with egos—they've got to be stroked ever so often. It's annoying and tedious, but they can be handled." Her gaze lowered before she lifted her chin to meet his eyes. "I think you already know this."_

"_Just hard to swallow."_

"_Unlike this omelet, which is really good," Heather murmured. She savored the flavor of the smoky ham—the first ham she'd had in months—as she took another bite. "But that's what you're doing with Beck, isn't it? Keeping an eye on him by working for him?"_

"_The difference is Beck knows what I'm doing. Gray—" Jake shook his head in disgust. "He'll just think he's won."_

"_What does it matter?"_

_Jake opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again, shook his head slightly, and threw a lop-sided smile at her. _

"_What?" she asked._

"_You're dangerous."_

"_Come again?"_

_"You're not going to let me slide by, are you?"_

"_Jake, in all the time I've known you, I've never seen you just slide by. I don't know the person you used to be—or the person you _think_ you used to be—but when it comes down to it, I've not seen anyone do more for this town than you."_

"_I'm no hero."_

"_Wanna bet," she paused meaningfully before throwing out the nickname she'd heard some of the other townspeople use, "Super Jake?" _

"_There's so much more to you than anyone sees, and I'm just reminded of that. You know what makes people tick."_

_Heather's thoughts turned to Emily and her own naiveté where her friend was concerned. "Not always. I can be selectively blind at times."_

"_That little boy—well, he was lucky to have you as a teacher. You could give him what he needed because you understood how to motivate him." _

"_Kids are one matter. Grownups—that's a different beast altogether. Besides, you make me sound like a saint. I'm not a saint."_

"_I sure hope not."_

_Jake's words hung in the air, and Heather felt herself blushing furiously. "You are awful!" she laughed. _

"_But you love it."_

"_Yeah," she nodded her head. "I do."_

Heather still felt like she was on a natural high from breakfast, even hours later. They'd been planning on going out to the ranch together to feed the horses, but Eric had shown up needing Jake. And just like that, he had to go—though not before Eric commented on the fact that Jake was still wearing yesterday's clothes. Jake had looked back at Heather and told her he was sorry about their trip to the ranch. She had waved her hand dismissingly. _"It's fine_." And it was. Everything was more than fine.

"Heather! Earth to Heather!"

Heather snapped out of her reverie and spun around to see Stanley Richmond standing nearby, arms outstretched.

"Didn't you hear me calling your name?" he asked with a grin. "Must've been some daydream!"

Heather let her shovel drop and rushed into his open arms. "Oh my goodness! It's great to see you!"

"So I don't come to town for a few days, and I miss out on everything! I'm mad at you, you know." His playful tone contradicted his words.

"What did I do?"

"First you make us all believe you're dead. Then you come back to life, and you don't even stop by to visit. I had to hear about it from Bonnie, and she totally rubbed it in."

"Well, next time I die and come back to life, I'll be sure to stop by right away," Heather replied with a laugh. "Gosh, it really is good to see you. You look so…so…"

"Handsome? Debonair in plaid? Strong?"

"Happy."

"Yeah, old friends coming back to life do that to me," Stanley replied with a shrug.

"Nah. It's more than that. Tell me about her."

"What makes you think it's a woman? I could've merely fixed my tractor by myself or avoided getting blown up by gas cans under pressure…"

"Stop bullshitting me," Heather scolded, "and spill."

"When did you get a potty mouth?"

"And when did you get so evasive?"

"You know Mimi, the IRS auditor," Stanley began, "she's the most infuriating, complicated, ballsy woman I've ever met."

"Don't forget beautiful," Heather added with a smile. It was good to see her old friend beaming as he talked of the woman he loved.

"She's especially beautiful now that she's not so high-maintenance. She's smart. Sometimes I'm not sure whether I should kiss her or, you know, thumb wrestle her. She's…"

"Perfect for you," Heather finished.

"Yeah. Perfect for me. Funny how things work out, isn't it?"

"Sounds as though you've been doing well." Heather smiled.

"I have been. It's been a hell of a month around here." He looked down at the ground for a moment before lifting his gaze back to her face. "Have felt kind of guilty for feeling so happy. So many folks have lost so much. You included."

Heather chewed the inside of her mouth as she thought of her small apartment filled with treasures valuable to no one else but her. "I'm okay. And Stanley, you really do deserve happiness."

"Bonnie said you were staying here. You know we've got an extra room at the farm if you ever get tired of Gail's home cooking or Jake's…well, being Jake."

Heather tilted her head. "Now who's digging for information?"

"Can't blame me for trying," Stanley replied.

"Jake and I are getting along fine. He's been a good friend to me."

"Good, because thirty year friendship or no, if he steps out of line, I'll kick his ass for you. Just say the word."

"I'll remember you said that."

"So I'm not the only one from the Richmond farm who'll be happy to see you. Daisy, too."

Heather laughed lightly at that.

Daisy was Stanley's old John Deere tractor. Its original green and yellow paint was long gone; Bonnie had given it a new paint job a few years back with marks resembling that of a cow. Stanley had gone through the roof when he saw it, told Bonnie he was going to repaint it, but never got around to it. Heather's friendship with Stanley was formed over that hideous tractor.

For years, the Richmonds had gone to Jessup's Engine Repair for servicing. More accurately, Mr. Jessup would come out to the farm if one of the tractors or another machine needed repairs. Upon his retirement, though, Mr. Jessup headed for Florida, and his son didn't have his finesse for repairs. Or as Stanley's dad would've said had he still been living, the son didn't know whether to scratch his watch or wind his behind. Whatever the case, Stanley found himself needing to have the repairs repaired.

Then one day Bonnie came home and told Stanley how this new teacher at school got Mrs. McVeigh's car running when it wouldn't start. Stanley wanted to meet him. Then Bonnie told her brother that the teacher was a her, not a him. Then Stanley _really_ wanted to meet her. Any woman who could fix a car was well worth the effort…and maybe she'd know how to repair a tractor.

Bonnie introduced them one day when Stanley came to pick her up from school. It was an awkward meeting, Stanley recalled, with Bonnie seeming fine one minute and moody the next. Finally, when Bonnie stormed off, Stanley muttered his apologies and took off after her. Bonnie never would say what had been wrong, and Stanley figured it was a sign.

He wasn't even going to ask Heather for help, but that evening she showed up at the farm with a pink paper bag and asked to see Bonnie.

"_What's in the bag?" he had asked her._

"_Bonnie's not a little girl anymore. I brought a few female things I thought she might need."_

"_Huh?" _

_Stanley unfolded the top and looked in, met with assorted boxes of tampons and sanitary napkins. Just as quickly, he closed it up again. "Ah gee."_

"_So much for euphemisms," Heather quipped as Stanley's face turned as pink as the bag of feminine hygiene products he held. _

"_I don't know what you just called me, but you just gave me a bag full of maxipads and other…stuff."_

_Heather furrowed her brows. "Huh? I didn't call you anything. And I did tell you that bag was for your sister."_

_Stanley pushed the bag back into Heather's hands before crossing his arms. "She's too young for this stuff. And did you just scold me?"_

"_You weren't listening. And she's not too young for this."_

_Neither of them heard Bonnie enter the living room. "Ms. Lisinski." Her voice broke through the miscommunication the two adults were having. "What are you doing here?"_

_Heather looked to Stanley to get the go-ahead. He nodded slightly, though he looked positively pained at the prospect that his little sister was growing up. "I brought a few things over I thought you could use," Heather replied. She made sure to look directly at Bonnie as she spoke; the girl did an exceptional job of reading lips. Heather passed the bag to Bonnie._

_Bonnie peered inside, a look of relief washing over her features. "Thank you."_

"_You're welcome," Heather simultaneously signed and spoke. "Well, I should be going. Lots of papers to grade tonight."_

"_There's a solution to that, you know," Stanley interjected._

"_What's that?"_

"_Stop giving assignments," he concluded._

_Heather moaned. "Dare to dream."_

"_I'll walk you out," Stanley offered._

"_Thanks," Heather replied._

_When the two exited the farm house, Stanley commented on her truck, namely that his grandfather had one like it back in the day. Heather commented on his spotted tractor, that she saw a cow like it once, and a friendship was formed. Heather had no experience with tractor repair, but an engine was an engine, and she learned along the way. In return, Stanley helped her with odd jobs around her apartment or in her classroom._

_Some people thought they were more than friends. Emily included. Heather remembered how Emily used to try to push Stanley and her together, but a night at Bailey's with too much alcohol and too much karaoke finally cemented in Emily's mind that Heather and Stanley would never be more than good friends. That night also firmly cemented in Heather's mind that she would never look at the song "Feel Like Making Love" in the same way again. _

"So Daisy misses me?" Heather asked.

"No one can keep her running quite like you."

"Now we get to the heart of the matter," Heather teased. "You're glad I'm alive so I can fix your tractor."

Stanley held up his hands in mock surrender. "You caught me. You found me out. I want you to be alive solely for the purpose of keeping up my farm equipment."

"Well, so long as I'm useful…"

* * *

From the street, Nora Travers watched Heather Lisinski get into a truck with a man wearing plaid. So close but so far away.

'You're lucky this time,' she thought to herself, 'but sooner or later, your luck has to run out.'

* * *

to be continued...


	23. Chapter 17

**Author's Notes: **A big thanks goes out to my wonderful beta reader, Skyrose. Some of you must have thought that I had forgotten about this one, but I promise I haven't. Wrinkled Fabric's review helped to get me off my tail and remind me that this story still needs to be told. Thanks for that, Wrinkled Fabric! And thanks to all of you who continue to read this story after all this time.

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

"It's been a little different this year. Getting ready to plant, I mean."

"I bet. No farm supply co-op store, limited fuel."

Stanley and Heather were walking along the fencerow at the Richmond Farm, moving closer to the barn, which had some makeshift scaffolding set up around it. It was evident to Heather from the different colored wood that he'd done repairs recently.

"Saved seed from last year," Stanley commented. "It's not enough, though. When I planted, I hadn't exactly counted on the bombs. J&R is supposed to be supplementing some seed. Fertilizer, too, though I get plenty of natural sh-stuff from the cows, and Gail's promised me all the fertilizer I want, courtesy of the horses at their ranch."

Heather nodded her head, remembering the smells of homemade fertilizer the horses had left in piles in the pasture and in their stalls. "Looks like you're getting quite a bit done around here," she commented, indicating the barn.

"We're trying to. Winter was pretty brutal on everything. Then there was the battle. Had some damage from that."

Heather shook her head slightly. "It's so beautiful out here. It's hard to imagine that it happened."

"Well, if you go about half a mile down the road, it looks pretty real. Earth's still scorched," Stanley replied glibly. He glanced at Heather, who nervously bit her bottom lip. "I know that look."

"What look?"

"That guilty look."

Heather shrugged. "I can't help it. I mean, logically I know that I didn't instigate the battle. I just—I wish I'd never gone to New Bern. Never helped them get their factory up and running."

"Ah, come on, Heth. Don't do this. It's not like you're a Gilligan or something."

"What?"

"You know. A Gilligan. Always messing things up. Those turbines kept the Med Center going. You know, a lot of people are alive because of you."

"And a lot of people are dead," Heather muttered.

"Look, I was there, too. We didn't know what they were up to at first. Right? They weren't exactly putting up neon signs."

"I should've known."

"You know, I got this really nasty paper cut last night going through my tax documents. And this morning, I stubbed my toe. You gonna take the blame for that, too? 'Cause I've got to tell you, that was about as much your fault as a lunatic dictator in New Bern deciding to start a war with Jericho was."

Logically, Heather knew Stanley was right, but her emotions told her an entirely different story. Ready to leave behind the conversation, Heather asked, "Are Bonnie and Mimi around?"

"Bonnie's gone to town for awhile with Mimi, getting together some painting supplies. We've gotta finish the repairs on the barn. Last step: paint."

Heather chuckled, "I know looks can be deceiving, but the Mimi I remember, well, she doesn't seem like the farm chores kind of girl."

Heather watched as the corners of Stanley's lips curled. He seemed to be lost in his own private memory. "Yeah, she was totally out of her element at first, but I think Bonnie and I've got her broken in now. She still thinks she can reason with chickens, but—" Stanley broke off laughing. "God, I'm crazy about her."

"I'm so glad you found each other." And she was. In the few years that she had known Stanley, there had been a few women who had come and gone out of his life, but never one who made him light up the way Mimi Clark did.

"Me, too. Guess some good things have come from the world going to hell in a hand basket. What about you?"

"What _about_ me?" Heather echoed, suddenly feeling shy.

"Everyone's been talking about you. How good it is to have you back. How Jake, in particular, seems happy that you're here."

"I don't really know what to say to that," Heather replied slowly.

Stanley pressed, "Well, you are living with Jake."

"_Staying _with Jake. And Gail. There's a difference, and it's all soon. Really soon. And he and Emily just broke up."

"No kidding?" Stanley shook his head. "Think it'll take this time?" His tone left little question that he doubted the permanence of the breakup.

Heather had to work hard not to let Stanley's words get to her. "Um, yeah. Yeah, I think it will."

"They've got a lot of history."

"Yeah, I know," Heather replied softly.

Stanley's eyes widened. "Oh hell. I'm sorry, Heather. I was just kidding about you and Jake, but I guess it wasn't really a joke, was it?"

"It's complicated."

"But?"

"But we do enjoy each other's company."

"So diplomatic," Stanley scoffed. "So teacherly. You've had a thing for him since he got back to Jericho. Where is he today, anyway?"

Heather couldn't deny it, so she answered Stanley instead. "Working. You heard Major Beck appointed him sheriff, right?"

Stanley let out a low whistle followed by a deep chuckle.

"Eric came by the house this morning. Picked him up. Some kind of problem, but he didn't say what."

Stanley grabbed onto a fence post, testing its sturdiness. "So what are your plans now that you're back?"

"Wish I knew," Heather confided.

"There's talk that schools are going to be reopened."

"I don't think I'm what the kids need right now."

Stanley saw the shadow cross her face. "Are you kidding me? You were the best teacher they had at that elementary school!" He remembered all too well how Heather was always going above and beyond to help her students and their families. She had even stepped in and helped him with Bonnie on several occasions when the young girl needed a woman's guidance.

"I don't know about that," Heather hedged. "Looking for a farm hand?"

Stanley reached out and squeezed her bicep. "Think you could handle it?" But Heather didn't have the opportunity to respond. "Looks like Mimi and Bonnie are back."

With their shoes crunching on the gravel driveway, the two friends picked up the pace and headed toward the farmhouse where the old Chevy truck had pulled in. When the two friends got closer, they saw that Mimi was by herself. She opened the truck door and slid off the seat, letting her boots hit the ground beneath her. Heather had teased Stanley about whether Mimi was cut out for farm life, but she was amazed by the change in the formerly fussy IRS woman.

"Hey, sweetheart." Stanley greeted Mimi with a quick kiss.

"Hey yourself," Mimi replied.

"Where's Bonnie?"

"She saw some friends and wanted to stay longer. Said she'd get a ride home." Mimi then turned her attention to Heather and said with a smile, "You don't look half bad for a dead woman. It's good to see you again, Heather."

"Thanks. It's good to see you, too. I hear congratulations are in order. Have you set a date?"

Mimi placed a hand on Stanley's chest. "Not yet."

"Sooner rather than later," Stanley piped in.

"Yeah, he can't let me get away," Mimi deadpanned.

Heather smiled. "So I also hear you two have been doing quite a bit of work around here."

Mimi dusted her hands. "Yeah, well, he better get all the work out of me now while he can…"

"You two are…"

"No, no!" Stanley corrected Heather. "Not yet."

"I'm starting a new job at Jennings & Rall. Accounting. It's not quite as exciting as milking the cows, but it'll do."

With all Heather had been hearing the last few days about Jennings & Rall, she wasn't completely sure what to say. She supposed the polite response would be to wish Mimi well with her new endeavor, but she found it difficult to form the words when she had so many questions where that company was concerned. It was strange that they controlled communications, the distribution of the new Buffalo credits, food supplies. She could go on. And maybe there was nothing to worry about. Maybe after everything that had happened, she saw trouble where there was none.

Heather was spared coming up with a response, however, when Stanley spoke. "Heather got the tractor going again."

"Wind turbines. Trucks. Tractors. Is there anything you can't fix?"

"Plenty."

Mimi smiled. "I'm glad it's running again, but the thing looks hideous."

A few years ago, Stanley would have agreed. In the meantime, he had gotten used to Daisy's cow-themed paint job. "Yeah, but Bonnie did it when she was a kid."

"You're such a softie."

When it came to his little sister, it was true. From the time he first held her in the hospital as a newborn, he was hooked. And when she lay in the hospital bed after the accident that killed their parents, and he stroked her tiny hand, he knew he would've done anything to give her the world. Bonnie was more than his sister. Through the years, some of the women he dated didn't get that. When he had been out on a date and the sitter called him to tell him she thought Bonnie had the chicken pox, Stanley had rushed home—leaving a furious date in his wake. The same scene had played out, in various incarnations and situations, but always with the same result. Women seemed to think it was a competition, that his devotion to Bonnie somehow meant he didn't have enough time or energy or devotion left for a relationship. Mimi had been the first woman he'd been serious about who hadn't tried to come between him and Bonnie.

Watching the adoration between the two, Heather suddenly felt like an intruder. "I really should get back to town. Let you get on with your day."

"What? Running out on us so you don't have to paint?" Stanley teased.

"You found me out," Heather played along.

Mimi smiled. "Sorry, Heather. Looks like you're not going to get away that easily."

* * *

The house where Phil Constantino was being kept was modest and, by most anyone's standards, in the middle of nowhere. Lieutenant Jacob Hamilton had radioed ahead. The guards assigned to monitor the man were expecting him, and Hamilton had been allowed through the defensive perimeter without much fuss before being escorted through the front door.

Hamilton was surprised by just how homey the place looked. It had once been someone's country home, someone who had left and never returned. Its remote location made it ideal for keeping New Bern's former dictator detained while he awaited extradition to Cheyenne.

When Hamilton came across the man some of the soldiers had nicknamed 'The Devil,' Constantino was situated at a round table in the breakfast nook with a chessboard laid out before him.

"You know why I'm here." Hamilton did not exchange pleasantries, no small talk.

Constantino looked up from the chess board. "I heard what happened to your friend. Was sorry to hear that."

Hamilton's jaw clenched. "I'll bet."

"Despite what you may think about me, I actually liked Buchs. He had a-," Constantino paused, as though remembering a private joke, "-wicked sense of humor."

Hamilton pulled out a wooden chair across from where the other man sat. He turned it around, straddling the seat. "Let's cut to the chase. Did you have anything to do with Barrett Buchs's murder?"

"No," replied Constantino evenly. "Though you're going to have to approach it better than that, son. If I did, you don't think I'd up and admit it, do you? That's not the way it works."

The younger man's scowl deepened. "I'm not your son. My name is Lieutenant Jacob Hamilton. I'm an A.S. Army officer. You may call me Lt. Hamilton or just lieutenant, not son."

"And I'm a former cop who's being held for crimes he didn't commit. What's your point?"

Hamilton glanced down at the chessboard. Strategy. A game. "All right, then. You have the experience. Talk me through this. What should I be asking you?"

"What can you offer me?"

Hamilton nearly snorted. "I don't make deals with the devil."

"I see you've heard my nickname. I'm not sure I agree that it's fitting, but so be it." Constantino placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "Look, I'm not asking for anything crazy here. A few minutes alone with my wife. If you can arrange that, then we'll be in business."

"I'll see what I can do."

"You a man of your word?"

"I'm an officer."

Constantino seemed satisfied. "So if I were you, I'd be looking at the three m's: motive, method, and means. Now, at the risk of sounding self-serving, I should point out that I have no motive for wanting Lt. Buchs dead. If I'd want anyone gone, it would be Beck." Constantino paused, thinking of how things would have been so different if Beck hadn't shown up and doled out his brand of justice. New Bern would be on the fast track to independence, thanks to the farms it would own, courtesy of Jericho. "Seeing as how I've been locked away in here, I didn't really have means. What was the method?"

Hamilton's expression remained passive, but he didn't necessarily agree with Constantino's assertion that he didn't have means. Everyone knew the man could still pull plenty of strings. But Hamilton was content to let him talk, to see if he would keep his story straight or provide another lead. "Tough to say. His body was set on fire and dragged to the railroad tracks near Old Saturn Road."

Constantino frowned. "Anything seem out of place?"

"Nothin' out of the ordinary in the scene."

"So the perp didn't leave anything?"

"No, but he also didn't take particular care in concealin' the body, either." Hamilton swallowed hard. The words had sounded cold to him as he spoke them. This was his friend.

"Anything else?" Constantino asked rubbing his chin.

"Yeah, his uniform was gone. What do you make of that?"

"Gone? Not burned?"

"Uniforms are made of a wool blend. If it had been there, we would've found some traces."

Constantino sneered. "You've got bigger problems than a dead buddy."

Hamilton bristled at Constantino's harsh statement. What could be more important than his friend? "What do you mean?"

"Haven't you wondered why the uniform's gone?"

Of course he had. "Go on."

"If I were a betting man, I'd say that there's someone walking around wearing it, blending in. You military types, you're one big happy family, right? You trust that uniform. You trust who wears it." Constantino sounded almost gleeful.

"Did you set this in motion?"

"I've got no motive. Buchs let my wife in to see me from time to time. Why would I mess with that?"

Hamilton's gaze fell back onto the chessboard, noticing the queen was in danger.

* * *

"…but don't be surprised if Chet Rawley shows up again."

"I thought you smoothed that out," Jake grimaced as he opened the door to his office, his brother entering behind him. He turned on the light, surprised to find that he had a visitor sitting behind his desk.

"So what took you so long, _Sheriff _Green?" Maggie Mullen's delicate features were set in a deep frown. She looked to his brother. "Eric," she said by way of greeting before returning her attention to Jake. "Not keeping office hours?"

"I was sidetracked. On police business," he added. Jake was sparse on the details, preferring to get to the point as quickly as possible with her so she'd be on her way.

"And I thought you were just avoiding me," Maggie replied as she stood, relinquishing his chair. From her tone, Eric couldn't quite tell if Maggie was joking with Jake, but when she added her next remark, he knew there was some sting behind her words. "I hear you avoid all the women you kiss. I'd hate to know what you'd do with women you've-"

"Is there a reason you're here?" Jake interrupted, moving toward his desk.

Maggie's eyes narrowed. "I was getting to that."

Jake watched as Maggie circled the table, pressed her hands on the worn wood, and leaned toward him. "Then get to it."

"Jake," Eric's voice held a warning. _Tread lightly_.

"What's the matter with you?" she asked. "I always figured you were the type of guy whose mother taught you manners. You know, the kind who carries a handkerchief in his blue jeans but likes to seem all big and bad."

Jake's patience wore thin. "Who were you playing in New Bern? Constantino? Or me?"

Maggie pushed off the desk and stood erect. "What does it matter? It's over and done with. At least, I thought it was." She looked to Eric and then back to Jake. "I saw someone from New Bern."

"Here?" Eric asked.

Jake crossed his arms. "Like last time you were in here claiming to have seen a group from New Bern coming to attack, and they turned out to be refugees passing through?"

"Jake," Eric began, "Maggie wouldn't be the first person."

She brushed a strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead. "This is different," she insisted. "The man—Nate is his name—is from New Bern but he's wearing an Army uniform."

Jake's frown deepened. If, and it was a big if, Maggie saw what she claimed, he didn't like it. "Have you spoken with Major Beck?"

"I tried. I talked with one of his subordinates. Even asked about the man by name, but they had no record of him."

Jake shrugged. "There you have it. You must've been wrong about who you saw."

"Don't patronize me, Jake. I know who I saw."

Eric tried to diffuse the tension. "Everyone has a twin. My brother looks like a scruffier version of that guy off _Scream_. You know. The killer."

Jake glared at his brother. Maggie, on the other hand, persisted. "No, this is not a doppelganger!" She clasped her hands together and took a deep breath before continuing. "I know you have no reason to trust me, my judgment or my honesty, but I know one person who would've listened to me. Johnston Green."

Jake shot her a warning look. "Leave him out of this. You didn't know him."

"But I knew enough of him. Any man who would do what he did, carry me over his shoulder for miles is a hero in my book. That memorial down the hall speaks for itself. And I heard the conversation he had with you on the way back. He was a man of compassion but also a man of reason. Try to be your father's son for once, Jake."

"My father had no use for liars."

"What do I gain by coming here?"

"Attention."

"The kiss wasn't _that_ good." Maggie turned to Eric, appealing to him. "Eric, you have to listen to me. I saw Nate at the corner of Main and Church. It was early, maybe 6:45."

"Was he with anyone?" Eric asked.

"Yes. A Jennings & Rall employee. A young woman. She had curly red hair. Pulled up."

"A J&R employee? Did it look like someone he ran into?" Eric continued.

Jake chewed the inside of his cheek. Red haired J&R employee. Wilma? Neither Maggie nor Eric seemed to notice Jake's expression.

Maggie continued, "I-I don't think so. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but from the way they spoke, I could tell they know each other."

"Did he see you?" Eric asked.

"No, thank God." Maggie took a deep breath before continuing. "I don't know what I would've done if he had. Despite what you might think," she glanced at Jake, "I was glad to get away from New Bern. Away from him." Memories of his unrelenting touches made her involuntarily shudder.

"Did you see where he went?" Jake's question brought Maggie back to the present.

She shook her head. "I wanted to put as much distance between us as I could."

Eric spoke gently, "Maggie, why were you so scared?"

"It's hard to describe. Nate is, for lack of a better comparison, like Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde. He could be tender and appear sensitive one minute and be cruel the next. I was his favorite toy in New Bern."

Jake's stomach turned at the thought of what Maggie was saying. He shot a look at his brother whose expression reflected Jake's own feelings. "Think he's here looking for you?" Jake asked.

Maggie paused for a moment, considering Jake's question. "I don't think so. Before we left New Bern, just a few days before actually, his father was murdered. He said Constantino wanted it kept quiet. Constantino said if anyone asked, his dad was out of town. Nate couldn't understand why, and he wouldn't let it go. He pulled me out of jail for…" her voice trailed off. "He told me over and over that he would get his revenge. I was with him when he received word that the woman who murdered his father was dead. He was devastated. He wanted to be her executioner."

Eric felt the blood drain from his face.

Jake furrowed his brows. "So why would he come here?"

Maggie sighed. "I don't know, but whatever it is, it can't be good. And for him to be wearing a military uniform? I still haven't figured that one out."

"What is his full name?"

"Nate, er, Nathan Travers."

Eric cursed under his breath, his heart rate elevating.

Jake picked up a pad of paper and pen from a nearby desk. "Describe him for me. I'll post an APB—or what passes for one nowadays. Better to be safe than sorry."

Maggie nodded, and relief washed over her. "He's mid-twenties, I would say. Maybe about 5'10 or 5'11. Muscular build. Strawberry blond hair. Brown eyes. Small gap between his front teeth. Wearing an Army uniform."

"You just described God knows how many soldiers that are running around this area."

"I'm doing the best that I can! It's not like we had one of those relationships where we chronicled everything through pictures. It was parasitic."

"You did the right thing by coming here, Maggie," Eric interjected. "Thank you."

Maggie was surprised. "You're welcome. Like I said, we don't want him around." She turned back to Jake. "Anything else you need from me?"

"I've got enough."

Maggie inclined her head in acknowledgement and headed out of the office.

Jake dropped the pad of paper on the desk and immediately turned to Eric. "What are you not telling me?"

Eric tried to deflect. "Get someone to post that APB now. We've got to find Heather."

Eric moved to leave the office, but Jake extended his arm, catching his brother square in the chest with his hand. "Is she…." Jake struggled to form the words, to wrap his mind around what he'd just learned. But all the pieces fit. The haunted look in Heather's eyes, the fear that she'd become a monster. His heart began to hammer in his chest. "Heather's the one he's after, isn't she? She's in danger."

Eric took a step back and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah. She's in danger."


	24. Chapter 18

**********Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Author's Notes: ** Wow. It has been an extremely, extremely long time since I've updated this story. I hadn't given up on it exactly, but real life and other writing interests have definitely pushed me in a different direction. However, thanks to some recent encouragement from Madj, JuliaGulia17, and PrincessCupcakes, I decided that I really should get on the ball and post more. I will continue to post updates to this story if folks out there still interested in reading. Reviews really go a long way in encouraging me. Hint, hint.

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: "No Escape, No Recompense"**

Jake felt sick inside, a feeling that was becoming all too familiar in the last few months. He hated this. Not knowing how to make things better, only knowing he had to be on the alert, ready to take on whomever came along to threaten Heather.

_Heather._

No wonder she'd been so haunted. He didn't talk about it often—couldn't remember the last time he'd given voice to the thoughts—but he felt regret for the lives he'd taken. In battle. By necessity. Their faces had faded, and he'd never known their names. But Heather—she was so comparatively innocent—and from what information he'd gathered from Eric on the drive out to the farm, she knew the man she killed. How was he going to tell her that her nightmare was far from over? That the consequences of her actions were more far reaching than she'd ever imagined?

Now stepping out of the car onto the gravel driveway, seeing the waving forms of Stanley and Heather in the distance, Jake found himself tied up in knots.

"You ready for this?" Eric asked a few steps away.

"Hell no. But there's no way I'm letting anything happen to her. Wish you'd said something sooner."

"It wasn't my place."

Logically, Jake knew Eric was right. It was Heather's story to tell, her choice. But that gnawing feeling in his gut wouldn't ease up. He ached for her, knowing how affected she had been by New Bern, knowing that those wounds were about to be split wide open all over again.

"Let's do this," Jake finally voiced.

* * *

"So what was the big emergency?" Stanley asked as Jake and Eric approached Heather and him. "Heard I was painting today and decide to bail on me?"

"What can I say? Duty called." Jake shook his head slightly.

"At least you brought reinforcements," Stanley replied looking over at Eric. "Glad you could make it."

"Actually, we came to see Heather," Eric asserted.

Heather smiled broadly. "Lucky me," she replied, reaching out and squeezing Jake's hand lightly before letting go.

"Seriously?" Stanley asked with mock hurt. "What does she have that I don't have?"

"So…that big emergency…another bull on the loose?" Heather teased, ignoring Stanley. "Did Jimmy beat his sprinting time from yesterday?"

"I wish," Jake replied with a sigh. "No. Some fussy J&R guy paid Dale a visit. Tried to force him to go through the official channels for stocking the store. Let's just say Dale's bodyguards take their jobs seriously."

"Did anyone get hurt?" Heather asked, concern etching her features.

"Nah. Hurt pride is all," Jake replied. "But I think we're going to see more of this. Folks'll have to make a decision, and they're going to get squeezed both ways."

"J&R have given me the chance to get out from under what I owe the IRS," Stanley interjected. He looked around, spotting Mimi, who was out of earshot. "And any group that can stick it to the IRS, that works for me."

Heather shook her head. "I don't know, Stanley. I was talking with Mr. Steele from Appliance Mart a couple days ago when I was looking for a heating element. He explained this whole Buffalo credits thing to me, and the strong-arming tactics that are being used to implement them just don't seem right."

"Currency's a good way to solidify authority," Eric commented.

"But isn't that a good thing? I mean, if things are ever going to get back to normal, somebody or something's got to pull us together, right?" Stanley looked from Jake to Heather to Eric, none of whom said anything. But then that silence was broken by his exclamation, "Ah no, no! What's she doing? Get that away from the tractor!" With that, Stanley jogged away.

Jake, Eric and Heather turned, and in the distance they saw Mimi moving in the direction of the old cow-themed tractor, paintbrush in hand.

"Think he'll get there in time?" Heather asked.

"Not a chance," Jake replied with a half-smile.

"I'm glad everything worked out at Dale's."

Jake nodded, his expression turning far more serious. He and Eric exchanged a look.

"Everything okay?"

"We had a visitor today."

"Sounds serious," Heather replied.

"Maggie Mullen," Eric supplied. "She was in New Bern and knew Nathan Travers."

_Travers._

The sound of the name immediately had Heather taking a step back. For a brief instant, she was back in that moment. The blinding lights, the fight, the wild swing with the iron pipe, the blood. So much blood. Blood on her hands. Literally. Figuratively.

Heather swallowed hard. "What's this about?"

Eric's solemnly explained, "Maggie thinks she saw Nathan Travers here in Jericho."

Jake pursed his lips, wanting to bite back the words he knew had to be spoken. "Heather, we think he may be here for you."

Breathe in. Breathe out. One, two, three. One, two, three. "I don't blame him," Heather replied matter-of-factly. "He wants justice for his father."

"Justice?" Eric demanded incredulously. "You and I both know that Bart Travers never offered justice to anyone, least of all you or me. He died because of his greed, his hunger for power, his—"

"He died because I killed him," Heather reminded him sharply.

"Saving me."

"I don't regret that. I don't. I just—" she broke off and looked to Jake. "What must you think of me?"

But before Jake could answer her, Stanley approached the trio, a broad grin on his face. "Look! I'm a bleeder!" Stanley joked as he held up his hands, the red barn paint dripping from them. He moved closer to Heather, grabbing her hands, smearing the paint on them.

Despite the warmth of the sun, Heather felt immediately cold. Her blood whooshed in her ears, her mouth felt like it was filled with cotton, and images played before her eyes. The blood that bubbled from Bart Travers's mouth, his blood on her hands, the look of shock in his eyes.

Blood on her hands.

Always on her hands.

Forever on her hands.

No escape, no recompense.

"_You killed me. I'm part of you forever."_

"My hands."

Stanley nearly snorted. "Come on, Heath. You don't have to go all girly on me. It's just paint." He remained oblivious to her distress, but Jake saw the near full-fledged panic on her features. He'd seen glimpses of this from her before but never so intense.

"That's enough, Stanley," Jake interjected moving to Heather's side. He pulled his handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans and began wiping the paint from Heather's hands, which felt limp in his own. "You okay?"

But Heather wasn't listening. She pulled away from Jake, turned, and began walking quickly away. To where, she couldn't say. Just away. She needed to breathe. God, she needed to breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. One, two, three. One, two, three.

Still her breaths were rasping. It wasn't enough. It was never enough.

"What's wrong with her?" Stanley asked realizing that what started as a joke had turned into something far more serious.

Jake muttered indecipherably and took off after her. "Heather!"

* * *

Heather could vaguely hear Jake's voice, but it wasn't until his hands squeezed her arms that she could fully acknowledge his presence. She turned to face him as a sea of opposing feelings and impulses ran through her. She was simultaneously numb but crushed under a load she wasn't sure she could bear. She wanted to cling to Jake but also wanted to retreat as far away as possible. She was guilty yet she would do it all over again if necessary.

Jake's hands ran to her face, smoothing away the hair that had fallen across her forehead. His dark eyes sought her blue ones. "Heather?" The soothing tones of his voice matched his soothing touches.

"I—" she faltered. "I can't talk about this, Jake. Not now. I—I need Eric."

"This is about New Bern, isn't it?"

"Not now. _Please._" She looked over Jake's shoulder at the tall figure approaching them. "Eric!"

Jake watched as Heather approached his brother and the two wordlessly began walking along the fencerow and away from him. Only after they were out of Jake's earshot did they began to speak. However, their actions fueled his imagination. Jake observed Eric examining Heather's hands, wiping off the paint with his handkerchief as though she were a child whose wounds were being tended to, and then pulling her in an embrace. Jake couldn't see Heather's face, as she faced the opposite direction, but the way Eric rested his chin on the top her head, the quick kiss he planted on her forehead, jolted Jake. It was all so intimate. The two broke apart and continued talking. Actually, it looked like Eric was doing most of the talking with Heather nodding her head intermittently.

"Since when are Eric and Heather so close?" Stanley asked appearing next to Jake. "Wonder if Mary knows."

"They're just friends." Jake's sullen tone made Stanley's eyebrows dart up.

"Right. I can tell you believe that." Jake said nothing, merely glared at his friend. "Something's up with the red paint. Heather's the type of girl who likes to get her hands dirty. Literally. And she could always take a joke."

"You were in New Bern. What was it like?"

Stanley's jovial expression turned more serious. "Bad." He paused. "Nah. That's not even the word. It sucked. So you know what it was like here. The shortages. The deaths. The fear. Imagine that magnified by ten."

Jake absorbed Stanley's words for a few seconds. "Did you see much of Heather?"

"Here and there. We'd sometimes have lunch together when one of us could convince her to slow down. She was working pretty much non-stop. Guess we were, too, until Constantino sent us back."

Jake exhaled. He hated this. Waiting around. And for what? He wanted to be _doing_, not _waiting_. He wanted to be the one to take away what bothered Heather. He wanted to be the one she trusted.

But this wasn't about what he wanted; it was about what Heather wanted, and for whatever reason, she didn't want him.

"For what it's worth, Heather and Eric didn't seem all that close in New Bern when I was there. Eric mostly kept to himself. Didn't speak much. With what he'd been through with April…the baby…he wasn't himself."

Jake nodded. April and Tracy's deaths had taken their toll on his brother. He'd left Jericho broken, but he returned far different. "Something happened after you left."

"I heard they played spy together."

"Tried to blow up the munitions factory. Were caught in the process."

"Jake, I saw Eric when you two got back from New Bern." Stanley grimaced remembering his friend's swollen face, the cuts, the bruises. "If they did that to him, what you suppose they did to Heather? How did she make it out in one piece?"

Jake shook his head. "Damned if I know the details." When he'd asked, she put him off. Yet she was so willing to talk to Eric. Logically, Jake knew that their bond was forged through shared experiences, but he wanted to the one to share those experiences with her, to help her through it.

She wouldn't even give him the chance.

* * *

"You have any luck?" Nathan Travers asked his sister as they met up in their family's cabin outside of New Bern.

"Better than luck. I hit the jackpot, Nate." Nora pushed an errant red curl away from her face. "I know where she's staying. Even saw her. _Gardening_, if you can imagine." She sneered at the thought. "What did you do all day?"

"Nearly got roped into helping move books at the library. Couldn't even get close to Town Hall to dig up information. This uniform, I'm not sure it's worth it. Maybe I should've gone in like a Jennings & Rall automaton like you."

"You seriously have no idea how good I am. And it's not just the get-up, either," Nora Travers ribbed her brother, her eyes practically gleaming with triumph. "I know exactly how we're going to trap her." Her gaze fell on the hunting trophies mounted on the wall. The deer, the Alaskan elk, the wild boar. And for a brief moment she imagined Heather Lisinski's head mounted on the wall next to theirs.

* * *

Kenchy Dhuwalia bolted a shot of Mary's home-distilled liquor and felt the familiar liquid burn its way down his throat. What a day. Forget that. What a year. He'd been enmeshed in the gleam of the Las Vegas lights twelve short months ago. And he'd traded it for what? Purgatory?

Not that he'd had a choice. Vegas had certainly lost its sheen. The worst of humanity, he'd heard one of Red Cross volunteers say. Kenchy couldn't exactly disagree.

He wanted to forget. He needed to forget. And perhaps with a little help from Mary's magic potion, as he privately called it, he'd be well on his way.

"A man shouldn't drink alone."

Her voice sounded more like a purr in Kenchy's ear as the leggy red-head sidled up to him at the bar. A lazy, alcohol induced smile etched its way onto his features. Things were looking up. At least for one night.

"Then by all means, you should join me, Wilma."


End file.
